Haven
by shadowkissed-rachel
Summary: AU - All Human. The Havens once served as a beacon of hope for outsiders, but Rose and Lissa soon learn that it is not the safe place they had dreamed it would be. Together they must sift through the corruption and the lies to discover the true purpose of the Havens. In this sequel to Pulse, our heroes learn that there are no safe places in NAAMA.
1. Chapter 1

_**Rose –**_

" _If society fits you comfortably enough, you call it freedom."_

 _Robert Frost_

Most NAAMA soldiers die before reaching the age of 30. The Academies never felt the need to sugarcoat that fact; we were never made to believe that we would lead long and fulfilling lives, and no one tried to convince us that our inevitable demise would be glorious. I was nine years old when my instructor told me that the only thing anyone knew for certain about life was that it would eventually come to an end. I had been on this planet for less than a decade and already I was being prepared for my unavoidable departure from it.

I don't have a problem with dying; it's the part that comes afterward that concerns me. I'm not a fan of oblivion, or of Hell, but I suppose reincarnation wouldn't be so bad.

Surprisingly enough, Executor Ozera didn't ban religion; she uses it as a weapon and condemns people to Hell regularly. I used to tell my partner that since I've killed enough people and told enough lies, I can be sure that if Hell does exist, I probably have a fiery cell reserved there. Eddie would always shake his head, and try to explain that he didn't think the Bible mentioned anything about cells.

 _Jokes on you, Eddie, I'm in one._

I don't remember how I came to be here, but I'm in the same cell I had been brought to on my first day of training with the Risk Prevention Department. The straight-backed metal chair I'm sitting in is as familiar to me as the back of my hand. When I look up, I find that I'm staring straight into a singular glowing bulb; only this one doesn't flicker incessantly. Apparently Hell has better electrical hookups than the RPD.

The door to my cell opens, and a boy with hair the color of a moonless night sky strides in. He looks different, older. He's much taller than I remember him being, and his shoulders are broader. His eyes are unchanging though, they are the same piercing blue they had been the night he and the other investigators had broken into my room.

"I should have known you were behind this," I tell him, but my voice lacks the conviction it once had.

Christian Ozera has the nerve to smile at me. "Rose, I must say that you are the last person I ever expected to find here."

"How could that be?" I scoff. "Where else would I have gone after everything I've done?"

His smile falters for a moment and he looks confused. "Where do you think you are?"

"Isn't it obvious?" I ask, tilting my head to the side playfully. "We're in Hell."

He blinks a few times at me in disbelief and then reaches into his pocket to withdraw something. This small movement sends my mind spinning in a million different directions. Adrenaline surges through my veins and I leap out of my chair, trying to prepare myself for what could come next; a gun, a baton, a tazer…

Christian raises his hands in the air in surrender. "Rose," he says in an almost unrecognizably calm tone. "I'm not going to hurt you."

My eyes dart between his neutral expression and the object clutched in his right hand. It's just a flashlight, and I feel my body go limp when I realize that it's not a weapon. I slump back into the chair, and cringe when my shoulder collides with hard metal of the chair.

Christian lowers his arms slowly, never taking his eyes off of me. "I'm not going to hurt you," he says again, this time with more feeling. "I just want to make sure you didn't hit your head or something."

Christian takes a tentative step toward me, and I feel my body begin to tense up once more. He switches on the flashlight and bends down so that we are eye level with each other.

"Hold still," he commands, and I find that I am too weak to even bother with a verbal response.

He uses his thumb to pull back the lids of my eyes and peers into them with the flashlight one at a time. I swat his hand away in annoyance, and he takes a step back, frowning in confusion.

"Well," he muses. "You don't have a concussion. Perhaps you've merely gone insane? It's not uncommon in soldiers," he says more to himself than to me.

"I'm not crazy," I insist. "I'm dead."

He lets out an aggravated sigh and shoves the flashlight back into his pocket. "You're not dead, Rose."

I narrow my eyes and study him intently, noticing for the first time that Christian isn't wearing an investigator's uniform. Instead he wears dark cargo pants and a thin grey shirt made of cotton. Such casual apparel would never be permitted within the walls of an RPD Academy, a fact that leaves me feeling more confused than ever.

"Then explain what I'm doing here?" I say, gesturing wildly to the room.

"I was hoping you would explain that part," he snaps, running a hand through his sleek black hair. "You show up here, covered in blood and dirt, and dressed like a civy no less."

I look down and see that I am still dressed in the same gray tunic dress that I had been wearing during our escape. My arm lays cradled against my chest, held up by what remains of my sling. My arms and legs are pale, save for the patches of skin that are marred with yellowing bruises.

"Civy?" I question. "Like a civilian?"

He leans back against the wall of the cell with his arms folded. "Yeah, like a civilian," he says, sounding annoyed that I would have to ask. "I don't have time to give you a lesson in Portum slang, tell me how you found us."

Christian might as well be speaking another language, because none of what he says registers with me.

 _Portum?_

"I don't understand," I say, my voice becoming increasingly unsteady. "What is Portum? Is that another word for Hell?"

Christian smacks himself in the forehead out of frustration. "You. Are. Not. Dead," he says, enunciating each word for emphasis. "Portum is Latin for haven."

"Haven?" I croak.

Everything comes back to me in a tidal wave of memories; the holding facility, Tallahassee, escaping the compound, my friends…

 _This isn't hell._

 _We made it to the Havens._

 _They took me._

 _They took Lissa._

"Not quite what you were expecting is it?" he asks, sounding almost apologetic. "You're not the first person to mistake this place for some magical fairyland where everyone holds hands and sings kumbaya."

An icy pit has formed in my stomach. "Then what is it, and why are you here?"

A theory has been forming in the back of my mind since the moment I laid eyes on Christian. Is it possible that Executor Ozera is the source of all the Haven rumors? Did she create a fictitious place that would draw all of the dissidents together like lambs to the slaughter? My theory would certainly explain why Christian Ozera is standing in front of me.

"It's…complicated," he says evasively, "In more ways than one, Portum Lux is exactly what the rumors say it is; a place where people have come together to create a safer, better world."

I swallow down the bile that has begun to rise in the back of my throat, "And how is it different?"

"Not everyone is welcome here."

"Correct me if I'm wrong," I say, mustering as much venom as I can. "But isn't a haven, by definition, a refuge - a place where everyone can feel safe?"

"Not _everyone_ deserves to feel safe," he retorts.

"And who gets to decide whether or not a person is worthy of _feeling safe_? You?" I keep the disgust in my voice plane.

"Not just me," he answers with an arrogant grin. "Portum Lux is governed by a council, and I hold a seat on it."

The image of a group of men and women sitting behind a white marble table forms in my mind, and at its center is the severe looking old woman who had asked me my name.

"Is Tatiana on it?" I ask, hoping that I'm remembering the right name.

Christian nods slowly, "So you were paying attention? I wasn't sure what you would remember from that night."

I try to recall the events that had led to this moment. I rack my brain for any piece of information that would explain how I ended up in a cell that looks like the one from my nightmares, but it's no use.

"What happened?" I eventually force myself to ask, "That night."

He shrugs, "You passed out, and that blonde girl went bat-shit crazy, started screaming for someone to help you. Tatiana let you sleep for a few days, but now she wants answers."

I fight the urge to be sick, " _Days?"_

"You were pretty beat up," he remarks, unhitching himself from the wall. "You still are…which is unfortunate."

"How so?"

His mouth is set in a grim line, and he looks genuinely distressed. "I can't help you, Rose."

"I don't want your help, I don't care about me," I say, shaking my head fervently. "The blonde girl, where is she? If you hurt her, Christian, I swear – "

He chuckles under his breath. "Don't waste your empty threats on me; you couldn't touch me even if you had a reason to. Which, you don't. _Lissa_ is fine."

He used her name, I wonder if she had given it up willingly, or if it had been extracted from her.

"Christian," I growl. "Where is she?"

"I already told you," he says flippantly. "She's fine; she'll have no trouble fitting in here. She's not the one you should be worrying about."

 _He's right._

 _I should be worrying about Dimitri._

Is it possible that he and the others were able to avoid being captured? Do Christian and his council of lunatics know that Lissa and I weren't alone? A million questions swirl around in my head, but I can't ask any of them – not without implicating Dimitri and the others.

"I want to see her," I demand, trying to sit up as straight as possible in the chair.

"You're not really in a position to be making requests, you're lucky that you're even here. The council wanted to toss you out on your ass that first night."

"Why didn't they?"

He lets out a long breath and then eyes me warily. "Because I intervened on your behalf."

I let out a snort of disbelief. "Right, was that before or after you outed me as an investigator? Maybe I should let them know how we met, I'm sure the council would be very interested to learn that the RPD's golden boy is sitting on the bench next to them."

Amusement flickers in his eyes, and then he forces a scowl. "Do you think they're idiots? Of course they know who I am."

I try not to visibly shrink back at his revelation, I had been certain that Christian's identity could be used as a bargaining chip to get Lissa and me out of here.

"You're lying," I tell him, though I'm not so sure he is. "If they know you're an investigator, why would they let you stay? Hell, why would they give you a council seat? Why not toss you out like you claim they want to do with me?"

"You don't get it," he says, taking a step toward me. "They don't care that you're former military – they want you gone because you're disabled."

I feel my eyes widen in surprise, "I'm not disabled, I was stabbed!"

"We had one of our physicians take a look at your injury while you were unconscious; she says that the damage to your ulnar nerve is extensive and most likely permanent."

I feel a mixture of horror and rage begin to well up within me. "She's wrong," I snap.

"Sage is rarely wrong," he tells me solemnly.

I want to scream at him, but I think a part of me knew that there would be no miraculous recovery for me. The few parts of me that I had always treasured, my strength, my resolve, and my determination – are being stripped away from me one layer at a time. Soon I will be the shell of the girl that I once was. I can't dwell on what I've lost though, and I force myself back to the present.

"Fine, let's say this Sage person is right and I'm disabled," I concede. "Why should that make me unfit to stay here?"

He hesitates for a moment, and then opens his mouth to speak. "The Pulse destroyed the modern world. The destruction set human advancement back decades, but instead of rebuilding and finding a way to move forward, the Executor pushed us back even further. She created us – you and me – to hunt down and destroy any shred of hope for returning the world to its former glory. Do you know what's left? Ignorance. The people of NAAMA are weak and cowardly. If left unchecked, they will continue to breed and the stupidity that runs through their kind like a disease will fester. There is no room for fatuity in the new world order, nor is there room for sickness and handicaps"

Realization washes over me like a bucket of ice water. I was right all along, I am in Hell.

 **So I reached 500 reviews and I was like ya know what? The first chapter is done so I might as well put it up because I love you guys and you make me so happy.** _ **Haven**_ **is going to be a very different story. I kind of wanted to emphasize how most people truly believe that what they're doing and what they believe in is the best thing for the world. I want to touch on a lot of issues that maybe some of my readers can relate, but I also want to write Romitri smut so that will inevitably come up too.**

 **Also, about Christian, right now he sounds like a psychopath, but I swear he'll come around.**


	2. Chapter 2

_**Lissa –**_

" _Ring out the false, ring in the true."_

 _Alfred Lord Tennyson_

My hands lay folded on my lap. I've been staring at them for so long now that the bruises that cover them have blurred over in my mind, they look more like a swirling mass of purple and blue than my own two hands. I haven't been treating them very nicely lately. For the past three days I've been using them to pound against the heavy door that has been shut from the moment I was cast into my new prison.

Rose had passed out in the middle of the council chambers, whether it had been from fright or from exhaustion I can't be sure. The boy with the raven hair had caught her before she could hit the ground, which was more than I had done to help her. I'd done the only thing I could think of: scream. My screams were for Rose, for someone to help her, but they were also for me. We had risked everything to come to the Havens, under the naïve assumption that we would be safe here. I screamed because we had been wrong, so horribly and tragically wrong.

The old woman, Tatiana, had ordered me to be silenced. I had felt someone's thick and calloused hand clamp down over my mouth, muffling my shouts. My screams were reduced to sobs, and I watched helplessly as Rose was swung up into the arms of the boy who had frightened her to the point of collapse.

She had said his name was Christian Ozera.

My captor had begun to drag me out of the room, despite my best attempts to dig the heels of boots into the musty green carpet of the council chambers. Once we had cleared the threshold, he'd spun me around and told me not to bother trying to escape.

"You won't get very far," he had warned.

I had merely blinked at him; I had been too busy processing Rose's words.

 _Christian Ozera._

 _Ozera._

The citizens of NAAMA know very little about Executor Ozera beyond the role that she had played in the aftermath of the Pulse. It is rumored that her family had perished in the destruction, and their deaths are what drives her to rule the way that she does. I suppose that if I wanted to inspire people to blindly follow me, it would be easier to convince them to do so if they felt they could sympathize with me. Nothing evokes sympathy like a dead family, I should know.

The burly man had snapped his fingers in front of my face to get my attention, pulling me away from my thoughts. I hadn't noticed that we'd since been joined by the woman who had held her arm around Rose's neck during my brief interrogation. She informed my captor and me that I was to be taken to some place called the Duval Quarters.

I was led away from the council chambers, away from Rose. The man didn't brother blindfolding me, and my march to the Duval Quarters offered me my first view of the Havens.

To call it disappointing would be an understatement.

The city is a mass of ruined buildings and metal carnage. There are no streetlights, no lit windows, none of the wonders Victor had spoken of during our lessons. Even in the dark, I could tell that this place is not a haven. I'm not sure what I had been expecting, maybe little kids running around clutching books to their chests? I guess I had been hoping to find a thriving society; instead I had found myself being led through the remains of a dead one.

I had been forced to walk in front of the man, but he didn't seem to be paying very much attention to me and so I had used the opportunity to scan the ruins for any sign of Dimitri and the others. I had seen nothing but shadows, which filled me with a mixture of horror and relief. I had tried to convince myself that there was a chance they were still out there somewhere, still safe.

My guide ordered me to stop in front of a particularly tall building. It had probably been white at one point, but damage and neglect had taken its toll and it is now a ruddy brown color. He had brushed past me and pulled open the door, then gestured for me to enter. The door had once been glass, but the only thing that remained were the jagged edges of a window that once was. The man was holding open nothing but an empty metal frame, a sight that under different circumstances might have made me laugh.

I had followed him into the building, but stopped after a few paces. I could barely make out his features in the darkness, but I had watched as he leaned forward and jammed his palm against a button on the wall. I had gasped when the button lit up in the form of a red arrow pointing upward. A few moments later, something had dinged, nearly causing me to leap out of my skin. The walls in front of the man had seemed to part, and light spilled from the opening. He ushered me into it and I had found myself standing in a metal box. I had thought maybe he intended to leave me there, but he crossed the threshold and joined me. I backed myself into a corner, trying to move as far away from the man as possible.

He had ignored me and turned to examine one of the walls which held a series of smooth metal buttons, each bearing a different number. He mashed down the number seven and then turned to grin at me.

"You're in for a treat," he had told me tauntingly.

The box had begun to move.

My stomach had lurched as we began to ascend, providing me with the first sign that I had not escaped one primitive Hell only to find myself trapped in another. It had been a miracle. Though, I had quickly reminded myself that it wasn't a miracle; it was technology.

The man, probably having noticed my awe-struck expression informed me that I had just ridden in an _elevator_. I started to ask him other questions, about the city and about Rose, but he had promptly told me to shut up and led me out of the elevator contraption and into a room at the end of a long corridor. He had removed my metal cuffs before slamming the door shut behind him.

I have been here ever since. I think it's been three days, but there are sheets of metal covering the windows of my room and I can't be sure how much time has passed. My prison doesn't feel like one in the conventional sense, it's about twice the size of the unit I had lived in back at the compound. In the main room is a bed, the biggest bed I've ever seen and it's covered in soft white sheets and a heavy down blanket. Next to the bed are two standing lamps, and I've discovered that each of them will turn on no matter what time of day it is. On the other side of the room is a tall metal box, I had been too scared to open it on the first night, but my curiosity had eventually gotten the best of me. I had opened the door to the box and been hit with a wave of cold air. Inside of the winter-box was food, some of which I had never seen before.

It hadn't been until after I had eaten a jar of applesauce, three slices of bread, and an entire container of some meat product that I considered that my jailers might have poisoned the food. I had been on the verge of starvation and decided that it had been worth the risk.

Now I just feel guilty. Is Rose being fed? Are Dimitri and the others still lost on the streets, without food and without medical supplies? I haven't eaten since, and I haven't slept, refusing to do either until I can be sure that my friends are safe. I do the only thing it seems I am capable of doing these days: screaming.

I beat against the door, day and night. I use my fists like hammers and when the ache in my bones is too much, I turn to kicking. My cries oscillate between anger, desperation, and attempts to bribe anyone who might be listening. I shout and I cry and I kick, but no one ever answers me.

After what feels like a lifetime, I give up. I let myself slump against the door and slide onto the ground. Moving is painful, and when I look down at my arms and legs I see nothing but bone trapped inside Rose's jumpsuit. I look up from staring at my battered hands and concentrate on the light coming from one of the lamps.

I have access to electricity and running water, and there is food and a bed; everything I had once associated with the Havens. So, in a way, I found what I came here for.

 _Too bad I can't share it with anyone._

 _Too bad I'll probably die in this room._

The thought makes me laugh. It starts out as a quiet giggle, but eventually it evolves into a high pitched cackling sound. Tears stream down my face, and I can't make myself stop.

Something moves behind me, and I twist around from where I sit on the ground and see that someone is trying to open the door behind me. I crawl away from the door, allowing it to swing open. I can barely make out the figure standing in the doorway through my delirium.

"Oh my," the newcomer gasps. "Don't you look a fright?"

It's a woman, the same woman with the severe looking features and the white hair. A voice whispers in the back of my mind that her name is Tatiana.

She places her hands on her hips and purses her lips, looking more disappointed than I thought any one person could possibly look. "I suppose you wouldn't have had time to bathe, not with your very busy shriek-filled schedule."

Tatiana glides into the room and the door falls shut behind her. She takes special care to skirt around me, wrinkling her nose in disgust before taking a seat on the bed. She wears a plane black knee length skirt and a crisp white blouse. Her movements are stiff and exaggerated as she folds her hands on her lap and crosses one ankle behind the other.

"You may remain on the floor if you like," she offers. "Though if you were to shower and dress in the clothing provided for you, I may let you sit here next to me." She gestures to the chest of drawers that stands near the door and then to a spot beside her on the bed.

I stare at her in disbelief, but eventually find my voice. "I'm fine, thanks."

She narrows her eyes in disapproval. "Suit yourself."

I decide that sitting on the floor probably isn't the greatest idea, and so I struggle to my feet and retreat to the far side of the room.

"You probably have many questions for me," she says knowingly.

"Where is Rose?" I snap, not bothering with pleasantries or ceremony. "What did you do to her?"

"You're friend has been unconscious for the past three days, though I am told she is now awake and talking."

I feel my bottom lip begin to tremble, and I bite down on it to keep from crying. "I want to see her."

Her mouth forms a tight line, making her pinched face look even more repulsed. "I'm afraid that's not possible. At least, not until you answer a few of my own questions."

"I'm not stupid," I tell her, my tone acid.

"I'm counting on it," she says, with a hint of amusement in her voice.

"How do I know you'll let me see her, even if I tell you what you want to know?"

Her lips curl up into a cruel smile, making her look like the kind of person who might eat small children for sport. "You can't know, but I think you will find that it is best to do what is asked of you."

"Fine," I say with a sneer. "What do you want to know?"

"What's your name?" she asks, starting off small.

"Lissa."

Her face remains impassive. "You're not a solider."

"That wasn't a question."

"Fine," she says coolly. "Are you a soldier?"

"Yes."

"I see," she says, her expression darkening. "So you're a civilian _and_ a liar."

I blanch at her accusation, but decide to ignore it. "Is this the Havens?"

"I don't think you've earned the right to ask me a question, but I shall tell you anyways – out of the goodness of my heart."

I don't bother stifling my laughter, earning me a withering glare from Tatiana.

"The Havens," she says, clearing her throat. "Are a myth."

My heart shrivels upside my chest at her words.

"The people of NAAMA created the idea of the Havens so that they would have something to cling to. It provided them with hopes and dreams, but my dear, there is no such thing as a true haven – not in this world."

"Then where am I?"

"Portum Lux," she declares. "It's Latin for – "

"Haven of Light," I interject.

Surprise registers on her face briefly. "Yes."

"Seems like a pretty misleading name for a place you claim _isn't_ a haven," I retort.

"That's because it's not a haven, at least, not yet. We have a long way to go, but we have set ourselves on the right path," she tells me, a righteous look on her face. "And you can be a part of it."

Her words catch me off guard. "Why would I want that?"

"It's obvious that you're intelligent," she says, and somehow manages for her words to sound uncomplimentary. "You wouldn't have made it this far unless you were. You would do well here, surrounded by people like yourself. We could teach you, make you better."

"Why keep me locked in this room for three days if you wanted me to stay?"

"Your arrival here was unexpected; the council had to decide what to do with you. We are rather…selective, when it comes to who we allow to live among us. Our resources are limited and we can't provide for anyone who comes knocking at our door."

I take a step toward her. "How do you decide who to help?"

"It's really quite simple," she says, sitting up even straighter than before. "We have designed a test to determine who is… _right_ for Portum."

"And would I have to take this test?"

"You would, but I don't think it will be any trouble for a girl like you."

"What about Rose?" I ask, "Will she be allowed to take the test too?"

"Ah," she says, her expression darkening. "Former military personnel are not permitted to take the test."

"Why not?" I ask, my voice rising.

"The brainwashing that goes on within the academies makes them unsuitable for our purposes. They are damaged goods, but that doesn't mean we don't have military defectors living among us. They are allowed to join the ad Salvum; it's the equivalent of a guard here at Portum."

"Will Rose join the guard then?" I ask, trying not to get my hopes up.

"That remains to be seen," she says, rising from the bed. "Your friend is injured and is therefore unfit for duty. If it is determined that her injury is permanent, she will be sent away."

"You can't do that!" I shout, taking another step toward her. "Rose is a better soldier, a better person, than any of us – injury or not!"

"I admire your loyalty, but I'm afraid that the law is the law," she says, moving away from me and walking toward the door.

"If she can't stay, then I won't either," I say, striding after her.

Tatiana whirls around to face me. "Your friends made a similar promise, but I think the four of you will come around."

I feel my knees beginning to buckle. "Four?" I croak.

She smiles and it cuts through my resolve like a dull knife. "Did you really think we hadn't found the others that came here with you?"

 _Dimitri, Adrian, Mikhail…_

"Where are they?" I growl.

She waves a hand in front of her face. "You really must bathe, or at least brush your teeth."

"Tell me," I say through gritted teeth. "Tell me or I swear…I will kill you."

"Brave words," she says, sounding neither scared nor impressed. "We have arranged for them to be put up in rooms similar to yours. I have made them all the same offer."

"We won't take it, not if it means Rose can't stay." I say, my voice cracking. "Just let us go."

She forces out a sigh, feigning regret. "I'm afraid it's not that simple." She turns and raps on the door twice. "I'll let you think it over some more." The door opens a sliver and she slips through it without another word.

I immediately throw myself against it. "Let us go!" I scream, but I know that it's pointless.

Instead of crumpling to the ground in defeat, I spin around and decide to take my frustration out on my prison. I stride toward the bed and yank the sheets off of it. I pull at them until the tear down the middle, and I don't stop until I've torn them all the shreds. When the bedding has been reduced to rags and feathers I turn my attention to one of the lamps. I hoist it into the air and use it like a battering ram against the door. The bulb shatters and the aluminum frame bends in my hands but the door remains in tact.

I do my best to destroy whatever I can, smashing plates and turning over furniture until I am too overcome with exhaustion to even move. I eventually collapse onto the now bare mattress, staring up at the ceiling and feeling utterly devoid of hope. My door opens for a second time and I sit bolt upright on the bed.

It's Christian Ozera.

I clamber off the bed and charge at him, preparing to use the full weight of my body to tackle him to the ground. I run straight at his chest, which I discover feels more like a brick wall than a human torso. I feel my teeth rattle inside my skull when I collide with him. I would have sunk to the ground had he not caught me. His arms are wrapped tightly around me and I can feel the warmth of his skin even through the jumpsuit.

I tilt my head back slowly and see that the corners of his mouth are pulled up in a smirk. His mouth moves, he's forming words and sounds, but I don't comprehend anything he says. I can't concentrate on anything except the feel of his body pressed against mine and the way his blue eyes seem to see straight through to the deepest parts of me.

"Lissa," he says, and the sound of my name on his lips pulls me out of the haze.

I wiggle my way out of his hold and glare at him. "What do you want?"

"It has come to my attention that you are not pleased with your current situation," he says, flashing me an arrogant grin. His smile falters when he catches sight of my room. "Not pleased at all," he mutters.

"What do you want?" I snap, repeating my question. "And how do you know my name?"

"One of your little friends, the annoyingly pretty boy, he wasn't nearly as tactful when it came to keeping everyone's identity a secret. He's been shouting about you for days now. Since I already know who Rose is, I thought it was safe to assume that you are the mysterious Lissa he so desperately pines for."

"Where is Rose?" I ask, ignoring his comment.

"Ah," he says, reaching forward and taking my hand. "That's actually why I'm here. Now let's go, we don't have a lot of time."

He manages to drag me forward a few paces before I wrench my hand away. My skin feels suddenly cold without his. "I'm not going anywhere with you…you're Christian _Ozera_."

"I see my reputation precedes me." He snatches my hand up once more. "Now let's go."

I pull hard against him. "Not until you tell me where we're going!"

He rolls his eyes at my refusal. "I'm taking you to see Rose."

 **Hopefully this cleared up a few of your questions! Now prepare yourselves for all the fun that is to come!**

 **Also, my favorite part about this website is that I have readers all over the world! Just because I'm curious, where are you guys from? Also to my guest reviewer in the hospital – I hope you are doing okay and that you recover soon!**


	3. Chapter 3

_**Rose –**_

" _One life is all we have and we live it as we believe in living it. But to sacrifice what you are and to live without belief, that is a fate more terrible than dying."_

 _Joan of Arc_

"You're psychotic."

Christian scoffs, "I most certainly am not."

"You're right," I tell him sarcastically. "Psychotic isn't the right word, how about deranged?"

"I should have known you wouldn't understand," he complains, raking a hand through his hair. "The academies fucked you up."

"Excuse me?" I ask, my voice rising. "I'm not the one whose spouting all this bullshit about how _'there is no room for fatuity in the new world order.'_ You sound like an intolerant despot."

Christian shoots me a withering glare and then retreats to the far side of the room to lean against the walls of my cell.

"Rose," he says, sounding frustrated. "You're making this very difficult for me."

My shoulder is beginning to throb and the pain pulsing through me has given me a short fuse. " _I'm_ making things difficult for _you_?" I growl, rising slowly from the chair. "Do you remember the last time we were in a cell like this?"

Christian tenses but he doesn't move to stop me and so I take a step toward him. My legs feel shaky but the rage welling up within me gives me the strength to continue.

"Do you remember, Christian? Do you remember how you tortured me to the point of madness, just so you could build me back up again?" I'm only a few feet away from him now. "Answer me!"

His steel blue eyes betray nothing. "I remember," he says, his voice low but as devoid of emotion as his expression.

I close the gap between us, and I feel my fingers wrap around his throat, pushing him against the concrete wall. "If I'm fucked up, it's because you made me this way."

Christian doesn't move. We both know he could break my hold if he really wanted to. Something flickers in the depths of his eyes, something resembling remorse. "I know," he hisses. "I know what I did, to you, and to a hundred other people just like you."

His normally impassive face contorts with shame and he suddenly looks older. I feel my grip on his throat loosen and I stagger away from him. We stare at each other, and I see my own guilt for what I've done in the past reflected in his pained expression. I had never considered that Christian had felt anything beyond duty and loyalty to NAAMA.

"I can't change the past," he says, his resolve hardening. "But I can work to change the future."

"Is that why you left?" I ask. "To try and make up for what you've done?"

His expression darkens. I realize too late that my question sounds accusatory, but the truth is that I want to know if it's possible to wipe the slate clean.

"I left for a lot of reasons," he tells me, his tone acid. "Why did you leave?"

 _To find my parents._

 _To save my friends._

"A lot of reasons," I retort, giving him the same vague answer he had given me.

He let's out a curse under his breath and then takes a step toward me. "I am trying to help you!" he shouts. "Why won't you let me?"

"Because I don't trust you!"

He throws his hands up in defeat, "Fine, you don't trust me enough to tell me why you're here." He turns away from me and makes his way to the door. "Do you trust me enough to come with me?"

My jaw falls open in surprise. "Come with you? Right now?"

He shrugs, "You're welcome to stay here if you like."

I nod wordlessly and he opens the door only wide enough for him to peer into whatever lies beyond it.

"Stay close," he whispers.

I follow him out of the cell and into a narrow corridor. It's lined with wall sconces and they cast a warm glow on the paneled walls and the tiled floor. I had been expecting a few cobwebs and blood stained walls, not this cozy hallway.

"What the hell?" I ask under my breath. "Where are we?"

He flashes a grin over his shoulder. "Hotel Duval."

I glance back at the door we had just emerged from and see the words _Custodial Staff Only_ written across it in bold font.

"You kept me in a broom closet?" I hiss.

I hear Christian chuckle as we round a corner and enter a stairwell. "It's about the closest thing we have to a holding cell. The council doesn't believe in holding onto captives, it's a waste of space."

We make it up one flight of stairs before I feel my legs begin to tremble from the exertion. Christian turns and notices my struggle. "You're really out of shape," he tells me, pulling my arm over his shoulder to help me climb the rest of the steps.

Christian's touch brings back a flood of memories. I can feel the phantom tingling in the tips of my fingers and toes, the same feeling I would get during the aftermath of our shock therapy sessions. But I force them down along with the bile that his risen in my throat.

 _He's different._

 _I'm different_

I try to convince myself of these things, but a part of me remembers the way the padded headset had felt pressed against my temples.

"I can't remember the last time I trained," I admit, trying to pretend like I wasn't bothered by our proximity. "I'm also missing a significant amount of blood."

"Excuses, excuses," he mutters, leading me down another hallway lined with doors.

We stop in front of one of the doors and he pulls out a keycard.

"This is my room," he says, swiping the key through an electronic panel. "Don't touch anything."

He opens the door to reveal a room that looks like an exact replica of the personnel quarters at the holding facility.

"Charming," I tell him, walking over to flop down onto the leather sofa.

"Don't move," he tells me, moving to pull the door shut again.

I wave him away without even looking at him. I let myself soften for the first time since regaining consciousness. My eyelids flutter shut, but the feeling of being at ease doesn't last.

 _Dimitri._

Christian had only mentioned Lissa, did that mean Dimitri and the others weren't in Portum? Had they escaped? Thinking that he might have abandoned me here breaks my heart, but it means he would be safe.

My lids fly open at the sound of the door reopening. I have barely managed to stand up from the couch before someone slams into my chest. Arms pull me into a tight embrace and pale blonde hair clouds my vision.

"Lissa!" I gasp.

She breaks the hold and pulls away, "Sorry! Did I hurt you?"

"I'm fine," I tell her, even though she has practically knocked the wind out of me.

She moves to inspect my shoulder. "How is it? Is it hurting? Did _he_ hurt you?" She turns her wide green eyes on Christian and narrows them in suspicion.

I whirl around. "I'm fine," I tell her again. "What about you?

Even as I ask the question I can tell that she is not fine. She's still wearing my jumpsuit, only now it's more red than black. She's covered in dirt and bruises and her skin seems to hang off her bones like a loose fitting T-Shirt.

"I'm okay," she says firmly, and I can see that she desperately wants me to believe her.

"So now that we've established that you're both fine," says Christian as he strides toward us. "We can all have a nice little chat."

Lissa turns to glare at him. "Where are the others?"

I feel my heart skip a beat, "Lissa," I breathe. "Don't…"

"No," she spits. "I won't say a word until I know they're safe."

"What are you doing?" I ask Lissa through gritted teeth.

"Dimitri and the others are here," she tells me, though she hasn't taken here eyes off Christian.

 _No, no, no…_

 _Not Dimitri._

Christian looks like he's repressing a snarky comment and he takes a moment to get his anger under control. "I can't just bring everyone in my room and throw a big ole refugee party! I shouldn't have even done this!" he gestures wildly between Lissa and me. "I'm already enough trouble as it is."

"Then why did you do it?" I ask.

"I'm trying to get you to trust me," he says bitterly.

Lissa snorts in disbelief. "Don't hold your breath. You're an Ozera."

"He's more than that," I add, realizing Lissa doesn't fully grasp the severity of our situation. "He's an investigator."

Lissa seems to freeze up at my revelation, and she suddenly looks very pale.

" _Was_ an investigator," he says in a low snarl. "Just like you."

Lissa moves to step in front of me. "Rose is nothing like you!"

Christian takes a step toward her. "How do you know what I'm like?" he thunders. "I didn't have to save Rose; I didn't have to bring you here!"

I place my good hand on Lissa's shoulder and move to stand beside her. "What do you want to know then?"

Christian looks slightly relieved. "Your injury, how did it happen?"

Lissa casts me a suspicious glance and shakes her head, mouthing the word _no_.

"I was stabbed," I tell him, ignoring Lissa's warning. "Why does it matter?"

"That's what Sage thought," he mutters more to himself than to me. "When did it happen?"

I think back to the train and the holding facility, it feels like a lifetime ago.

"A few weeks at the most."

"That's good," he tells me.

"Good that Rose was stabbed?" asks Lissa incredulously,

"Good that it was recent, that means there's still time for her to heal. If I can convince the council that Rose's injury isn't permanent, they might let her stay."

"We're not staying," Lissa tells him bluntly. "If Rose regains full use of her arm, they'll force her to join the ad Salvum."

"The _ad what_?" I ask, not bothering to mask my confusion.

Christian smirks, "You're a feisty civy," he tells Lissa. "I like that."

Lissa flushes and turns away from him. "The ad Salvum is the guard."

"Guard?" I ask.

"That doesn't matter right now," Christian says, ignoring my question. "I know you're both convinced that I'm the villain and the only thing you want from Portum is to leave it…"

"But?" I ask, waiting for an explanation.

"Uh," he says, averting his gaze. "I didn't think you would let me get this far so I actually didn't come up with an ending to that little speech."

Lissa smiles for a brief moment, but then remembers where she is. "Nothing you could say would convince me that we should stay here."

Christian considers her words. "You came here for a reason. You wanted to escape from something, right?"

Neither of us answers.

"Everyone comes here looking for something. What if we could help you find it?"

"How can you say that if you don't know what we're looking for?" Lissa asks.

"We're more powerful than you realize," he tells us ominously. "The most brilliant minds of our time have gathered here, our reach extends farther than even the Executor realizes."

"Then why do you need us?" This time I ask the question.

"What we want to accomplish can't be done overnight. It's going to take years, and it's going to take more than just the people we have right now. You're smart and resilient, if you weren't you would have never made it this far."

Lissa and I exchange anxious glances, both of us unsure which of us he is speaking to.

"We don't broadcast our location and our mission for two reasons: the first is obvious, we can't risk exposing ourselves to the Executor. The second reason is because even getting here is the first of a series of tests, only the intelligent can find us, and only the strong can survive the journey. You all passed, and the council won't give you up willingly."

"They don't seem very attached to me," I mutter to no one in particular.

"We aren't tools for you to use in whatever bizarre plan you have," says Lissa defiantly. "We're human beings, and we want to leave."

"Where will you go?" he asks, but he already knows the answer.

 _We don't have anywhere else to go._

"Give me a week," says Christian when neither Lissa nor I respond. "Let me try and convince the council to monitor Rose's progress. If at the end of that week you're not convinced that Portum Lux is a _good_ thing, I will help you leave."

I stare at him appraisingly. "If we agree to this, it doesn't mean that we trust you."

"I'm not asking you to trust me; I'm asking you to trust Portum."

 **I seriously loved hearing about where everyone is from, I feel like a special thank you to Richelle Mead is in order for bringing us all together! For those of you who asked, I am from Florida. It's everything you've ever heard and more. (Seriously, just type "Florida man" into Google and wait for the ridiculous news stories to appear)**

 **My next question is this: what other fandoms are you guys a part of? I personally have a very unhealthy obsession with The Infernal Devices. Also, how do you guys feel about our precious baby Dom being cast in the new Shadowunters TV series?**


	4. Chapter 4

_**Vasilisa –**_

 _"It is one thing to show a man that he is in an error, and another to put him in possession of the truth."_

 _John Locke_

" _I'm not asking you to trust me; I'm asking you to trust Portum."_

Rose stares at Christian skeptically and then says, "You sound like the leader of a cult. Tell me, do you also perform animal sacrifice?"

Christian scowls at her. Scowling seems to come as naturally to him as breathing. "Portum is not a cult," he scoffs. He pauses for a moment and looks as though he is struggling to force his features into neutrality.

Rose seizes the opportunity to poke at him some more. "Do you wear locks of each other's hair in vials around your neck?" she asks, feigning curiosity.

Christian's face has begun to turn a light shade of red as anger ripples beneath the surface of his calm expression.

"If its blood oaths I'm afraid you'll have to count me out," she continues with a sigh. "I don't really have any blood to spare."

I'm surprised that steam hasn't begun to pour out of Christian's ears at this point. His fists are balled at his sides and he is practically vibrating with aggravation.

"Explain it to us," I suggest, hoping to divert his attention.

A part of me wants to believe in what Christian is saying; that Portum Lux is a safe place, and that what they're trying to accomplish here would benefit the people of NAAMA. I need to believe in _something_. Nothing is familiar to me anymore, not my surroundings, my company, and not myself. The world has been cruel enough to strip me of what little comforts I had, now it seeks to take away my hopes and my dreams.

Christian shifts his gaze to me and his features soften slightly. "We don't have time for that, someone might notice that you're not in your room. I need to take you back."

Rose moves to stand beside me and I feel her fingers lace with mine. Her hand feels so tiny in mine, but her hold on me is strong. It's a small gesture, but it makes me feel safe and I can sense her need to protect me. I realize then that I do have something to believe in. Rose.

"I'm coming too," she says firmly. Her tone and expression seem to dare him to tell her otherwise.

He does, but something about his posture makes me think he does so unwillingly. "That's not possible," he says, shaking his head. "I took a big risk in bringing you both here. If the council finds out I let you two speak, they'll assume it was to conspire."

Rose flashes him a wicked grin. "That's exactly what it was."

Christian's only reaction is to roll his eyes. "You," he says, pointing at Rose. "Don't leave this room. I'm not sure where you'll be staying yet."

" _If_ they let me stay," she mutters under her breath.

"Say good bye," he tells me, pretending not to have heard Rose.

She clears her throat loudly. "A little privacy would be very much appreciated."

Christian opens his mouth and then shuts it abruptly, deciding that it's easier to just give Rose what she wants in this situation. "60 seconds," he snaps, he then turns on his heel and stomps out of the room.

As soon as the door closes behind him, Rose pulls on my hand and turns me to face her. "Where is Dimitri?"

The urgency in her voice breaks my heart. Like me, she had probably been hoping that Dimitri and the others had managed to evade capture. Learning the truth had been like a dagger to the heart, not knowing the whole truth was twisting the hilt.

"I don't know," I tell her, desperately wishing that I had something more to give her.

As far as I'm concerned, not knowing is a form of torture. When the truth is unknown to us, we create our own and it's usually not very pleasant. The scenarios conjured in my mind are bleak. I imagine the worst possible outcome for any situation and I play them over and over again in my head. I can tell from Rose's warped expression that she is doing the same.

For all we know, Dimitri could be sleeping fitfully in a warm bed. He could also be dead.

Rose bites down on her lip, and when she releases it to speak I see that she has cut through the skin. "What about the others?" she asks. "Mikhail and Adrian?"

I can't bear the thought of telling her that I don't know for a second time and so I simply shake my head.

"We'll find them," she tells me, though her tone is anything but reassuring. "For now, just lie low. I'll figure something out."

Even now, Rose is trying to find a way to save us.

"Let me worry about Dimitri and the others," I say, squeezing her hand. "You need to focus on getting better."

Rose pulls her hand away. "I don't think that's going to happen any time soon," she tells me bitterly.

"You have to," I say almost pleadingly.

She offers me a watery smile. "I'll do my best." Her voice is hollow and her words are forced. "We're both going to be okay."

Neither of us speaks for a moment. We allow ourselves this one moment of quiet, and in it we find a sliver of solace.

"Time's up!" Christian's shouts are accompanied by a sharp knock at the door.

The sound of his voice causes Rose to flinch, and her expression immediately darkens. "Be careful around him," she says, lowering her voice just in case. "He can be charming when he wants to be and he's as clever as they come."

"How do you know him? What is he doing here?" I suddenly have a million questions. I want to kick myself for not using our time more wisely.

"It doesn't matter," she says, nudging me in the direction of the door. "Just…just don't talk to him if you don't have to. He's dangerous."

Her warning turns my blood cold. "Rose, why is – "

Christian yanks open the door, forcing back my question. "Time to go."

Rose nods at me, and I begin to walk toward him slowly. I turn to cast one last fleeting glance over my shoulder as I go. Rose doesn't seem to notice, her eyes are narrowed at where Christian stands in the doorway. I turn back around and see that Christian is regarding her with the same intense suspicion.

I make my way past Christian and he pulls the door shut behind us. "This way," he says making his way down the corridor.

The hallway is identical to the one I had been led down on my first night in Portum. The sconces on the wall are lit, and the bulbs neither pulse nor flicker. The modernity of it all is a strange contrast to the destruction that exists outside. I know Rose told me to avoid talking to Christian, but my curiosity gets the best of me.

"Can I ask you something?"

Christian doesn't bother turning around to look at me. "You can ask," he says, opening a door at the end of the hallway, "But that doesn't mean I'll answer you."

I come to an abrupt halt, but it takes a moment for Christian to notice that I have stopped following him. I am sick of being brushed aside by these arrogant Portum residents. Both he and Tatiana act like they walk on water and that I am unworthy of knowing their secrets. They think they can tell me what to do without ever offering an explanation. If Christian expects me to just follow him blindly then he's in for a rude awakening.

"I'm going to ask you a question, and you are going to give me an answer," I tell him defiantly, folding my arms across my chest.

With one hand still propping open the door, he turns to study me. His blue eyes wash over me but I force myself to remain as unwavering as the light that shines in the halls.

"Not out here," he finally says in a low voice.

He ushers me past the door and into a stairwell. Once we're both inside, he leans against the bannister and stares at me expectantly. "Well?"

Christian's gaze is cool and calculating. Despite the icy blue of his eyes, he appears before me like fire manifested in the form of a man – beautiful and treacherous. I am almost certain that reaching out to touch him would be the equivalent of closing my hand around a hot coal.

"You have electricity," I start off slowly, trying to pull my thoughts away from what it would be like to touch Christian.

He lets out a dramatic gasp. "What? I hadn't noticed, thank you for bestowing your knowledge upon me!"

"You didn't let me finish," I snap. "You have electricity, food, beds – "

"Yes, you're very observant," he says sarcastically. "Now that we've established that your eyes are functioning properly can we get on with this little interrogation?"

"How is that possible? There's practically nothing left of the city. It's a wasteland outside, but inside it's…"

 _It's warm, it's clean, it buzzes with life._

"It's like nothing ever happened," he says, simplifying my thoughts.

"Like nothing ever happened," I repeat, letting the notion sink in.

"We couldn't restore the entire city," he tells me, as if that should have been obvious.

"Because you don't have the resources?" I hadn't meant it as an insult against Portum, but Christian takes it like one.

"No," he says, sounding offended. "It would draw too much attention to us. We've only rebuilt parts of the city, and that allows us to remain hidden. We have survived this long because on the outside, Portum is just like every other city that was abandoned after the Pulse."

"Is that why there are sheets of metal on all of the windows?" I ask, recalling the window in my lavish prison. "Or is it to keep me trapped here?"

The corners of his mouth quirk upward in amusement. "The former. We can't let the light escape; it would be like flashing a big neon sign that says 'Wanted Criminals Eat Free'."

"Are most of the people here criminals?"

He frowns slightly. "That depends on your definition of a criminal. Every person here, including you, is a criminal in the eyes of the Executor."

"Is she your mother?" I blurt out.

Christian looks momentarily shocked, but he quickly disappears behind a chiseled mask of indifference. "My aunt."

At first, the only response I can think of is "Oh."

"Is that all?" he asks impatiently.

"If you're related to the Executor, what are you doing here? Shouldn't you be helping her round up librarians?"

Christian lets out an annoyed sigh. "My last name is Ozera, and as far as you're concerned, that makes me untrustworthy. I was raised to be an investigator, and to someone like you, that makes me a monster. I didn't choose to be any of those things, but when you make assumptions, you are choosing to believe something without having any evidence to support it. That _is_ a choice. I am flawed. I have done horrible things to people who didn't deserve them, but in the entire time that you have known me, the only thing I've ever done is try to help you." He rakes one hand through his raven hair in frustration. "My reasons for being here are my own," he finishes abruptly, finally acknowledging the question that had prompted his tirade.

I clench my teeth together in order to keep my jaw from falling open in astonishment. His words are like tiny pins and needles that pierce my thoughts and force me to reconsider everything that has passed between Christian and me. It's true that he had never tried to hurt me, but something about him had scared Rose. The image of her terror-stricken face has been seared into my memory, and even now I hear her warnings repeated in my mind.

 _He's dangerous._

"Rose doesn't trust you," I say in a low but steady voice. "So why should I?"

"What makes you think you can trust Rose?" he retorts.

I don't hesitate. "I trust Rose with my life."

"That doesn't answer my question," he tells me snidely.

"You didn't answer mine," I say, placing my hands on my hips. "Why should I trust you? Why should I have to wait a week before you let me leave? If you really wanted to help me, you would let my friends and me walk out of here unscathed."

"This again?" he asks, sounding annoyed. "Do I need to remind you that you have nowhere else to go? You're traveling with a military defector and a wanted fugitive, if that Russian guy is who I think he is. If you leave Portum, you'll be caught and then you'll find out what it's like to stand in front of a NAAMA firing squad."

"What do you know about Dimitri?" I demand. "Who do you think he is?"

"Rose is wanted for aiding and abetting a fugitive. One of those guys is a former provincial guard, and the other one looks like a delicate flower. The Russian is the only one who looks like's he's capable of escaping a military holding facility. He and Rose are famous; did she really hijack a train and drive it off the tracks?"

I blink back my surprise. "You'll have to ask her that one," I tell him with a snort of disbelief.

An awkward silence falls between us and I feel my eyes dart around the stairwell, searching for something to look at that isn't Christian.

"Is there something else?" he demands, shuffling his feet restlessly.

"How do you know Rose?" I ask, wringing my hands together. "I get that you're both investigators, but you seem to really _know_ each other."

Christian hesitates for a moment. "That's not my story to tell," he finally says. His voice is taught as a wire and now he's the one trying not to look at me. "We've wasted enough time down here."

He turns and begins to climb the stairs, not waiting for me to respond. Again I am struck by how awful the unknown is. I can't keep myself from wondering what Christian's relationship with Rose had been like before I had met either of them. I picture everything from an RPD sanctioned lesson on torture, to a lover's embrace.

I follow Christian back to the same room as before. He swipes a keycard across the panel and waits for a clicking sound before pushing open the door.

"You should get some rest," he tells me once I've crossed the threshold. "You might also consider taking a shower." I glare at him and he throws up one hand in a defensive gesture. "Just a suggestion."

Instead of saying goodbye, I simply nod and retreat to the far side of the room. I don't turn around until I hear the door shut. My room is still in shambles from earlier and I recall the rage that had driven me to tear it apart. I'm too exhausted and too confused to be angry now.

I decide to take Christian's advice and shower, taking special care to avoid catching my reflection in the bathroom mirror. It takes me a few minutes to figure out how to turn the water on, and a few more minutes after that to get the temperature just right. It's strange to have control over something as seemingly insignificant as having hot or cold water, but it's a luxury I've never known.

I peel off the jumpsuit and toss it aside, discovering that I am more bruised and battered than I had realized. I pull back the sliding glass doors of the shower and step tentatively into the porcelain tub. A gasp of pleasure escapes my lips as soon as I touch the water. When I look down, I can see the dirt mixing with water and blood as it spirals away down the drain. I scrub myself raw, using the scented soaps and shampoos that I find nestled in a wired basket that hangs from the showerhead.

I remain in the shower until the water that runs down into the drain is clear of debris. To my delight, the temperature had never fluctuated. When I emerge from behind the foggy glass doors I find a set of fluffy white towels stacked neatly on the back of the toilet. The first thing I do is bury my face in them and inhale deeply. The scent of clean cotton fills me up and I sigh contentedly. After I wrap myself up in the towels, I pad back out into the main room. I feel like reality is slapping me in the face when I look at the torn bedding and the smashed lamp.

The shower had lured me into a false sense of security, and the wake of my anger reminds me of the truth of my situation. I immediately shed the towel and stride toward the chest of drawers that stands on the far side of the room. After yanking open each drawer and sifting through its contents, I put on a loose fitting pair of linen pants the color of moss and a long sleeved white shirt. None of the clothing fits properly, but it's still cleaner than Rose's jumpsuit.

I decide to jiggle the handle of the front door, but I'm not surprised to discover that Christian has locked it. I let out a defeated sigh and drag myself over to the bed. It's bare and covered in strips of cloth and feathers, but when I lay down on it I discover that none of that matters. Im so exhausted that I could probably have been lying on a bed of nails and still would have thought it was the most comfortable bed I'd ever encountered. My lids suddenly feel like led and I don't bother fighting to keep them open. I fall asleep almost instantly.

…

What seems to me like only a few moments later, I feel a pair of hands on my shoulders trying to shake me awake. I open my mouth to scream but I feel a hand clamp down over it. My eyes open and I attempt to suck in a breath, but I find that Christian's hand is blocking my airway. I do the first thing that pops into my head.

He wrenches his hand away in disgust. "You licked me!" He says, looking surprised and slightly amused.

"Well," I say, too flustered to come up with anything more articulate. "How else was I supposed to get your hands off of me?"

"I was just trying to keep you from shrieking at me, I've had quite enough of it. I'm surprised you still have a voice after three days of constant wailing."

"You scared me," I snap. "A gentle 'time to wake up, Lissa,' would have sufficed."

He ignores my comment. "I see you took my advice. Who knew that underneath all that grime lay such a pretty face." His tone is mocking but I feel my heart leap into my throat all the same.

"Is there something I can help you with, or was your soul purpose in coming here to irritate me?"

"You're not very friendly in the morning, are you?" he asks with a devilish grin. "I was going to surprise you, but now that you've hurt my feelings I don't think I want to show you."

I narrow my eyes. "What kind of surprise?"

"Get dressed and find out," he tells me evasively.

I glance down at the clothing I had selected the night before. "What's wrong with this?"

He shrugs. "If you want everyone's first impression of you to be that you're the type of lune who wonders about in their pajamas, then nothing."

"Do you ever just answer a question with a simple yes or no? Or do all inquiries require snide responses?"

He smiles more broadly. "I'm afraid snide remarks are my specialty."

I decide not to dignify his comment with a response, and instead I swing my legs around and rise from the bed. I walk over to the chest of drawers, then turn to stare at him expectantly.

"Oh, so now you want to change," he says striding over to me. "It's too late now." He looks at me and then down at his watch. "Breakfast will nearly be over."

Christian allows me to put on my boots before he ushers me out the door without an explanation. I follow him into the stairwell and down seven flights of stairs to the ground floor.

"Couldn't we have ridden in that lifting box contraption?" I ask in between pants.

Christian chuckles, taking obvious pleasure in my ignorance. "Do you mean the elevator?"

"Yes, the elevator," I say, mocking his arrogant tone.

"The elevator takes you to the lobby," he tells me, pushing open the heavy door at the bottom of the stairs. "The stairs take you here."

I look past him and gasp. We're standing in what looks like a community dining hall. It's lined with tables and each table is full of people. Some talk happily among themselves, while others look to be discussing something of the utmost importance, their heads bowing deep in conversation. In front of each person is a tray of food. Some of the people look to have eaten their fill even though there is still food on their plate. I find myself wondering what it's like to be full.

"This used to be a hotel," Christian tells me, beckoning for me to follow him. "And the bottom floor used to be a fancy restaurant before the Pulse." He leads me down a row of tables. "We knocked down a few walls, had our engineers renovate the kitchen, and now it's our dining hall. Meals are served here three times a day, though most people prefer to eat in their apartments."

Christian says something else about meal times, but I have stopped listening. Sitting at the last table is a tall man with long dark hair tied back in a ponytail at the nape of his neck.

"Dimitri!" I say a little more loudly than I had intended.

His head jerks up and he searches for my voice, his dark eyes widening when they finally see me running toward him at full speed. He embraces me for a brief moment before pulling away to make sure I'm alright. My vision is a little blurry, and I realize that it's because I'm crying. I weep because seeing Dimitri alive and seemingly unharmed is a huge relief, but I know it also means he is as much a captive as I am.

"Lissa," he says, using his thumb to brush away a few of my tears. "Are you alright? They didn't hurt you, did they?"

"No," I say quickly, shaking my head and doing my best to evaporate the rest of my tears. "I'm okay, I just – "

"Surprise," says Christian completely deadpan, I had almost forgotten that he had been with me.

Dimitri glares at him. "Who are you?" he demands.

Christian flashes him a smile, "No time for introductions I'm afraid. I'll let Lissa fill you in." He turns to me and his smile disappears. "I have a session to get to, can I trust you to return to your room after breakfast? Or will I have to hire a babysitter?"

"I'll do whatever I like and you may do the same," I tell him, already turning my back on him.

I hear him mutter something under his breath, but I am too focused on Dimitri to bother responding. He motions for me to sit down and I realize then that Mikhail and Adrian are also sitting at the table.

"Are you okay?" Adrian asks, reaching across the table to grab one of my hands. He turns it over to inspect the bruising. "What's this?"

"It's nothing," I tell him quickly, pulling it back and hiding both of my hands in my lap. "Have you seen Rose?"

"No," says Dimitri, joining me on the bench. "We thought she was with you."

I grimace, "She was, but then we got separated and they took her away. Christian let me talk to her for a few minutes last night – "

"You've seen her?" Dimitri asks, his head whipping around to stare at me. "Where is she now? Is she okay?"

He wears the same grief-stricken expression that Rose had when she'd learned that Dimitri had been taken.

"She was okay the last time I saw her, but I don't know where they've been keeping her. Dimitri, we have to find her and we have to leave."

Mikhail, Adrian, and Dimitri all exchange anxious glances.

"What?" I ask. "What aren't you telling me?"

"Lissa," says Adrian, his voice calm. "We did it, we found the Havens. Why would we leave?"

I gawk at him. "This isn't a haven," I hiss. "Didn't Tatiana come and explain everything to you?"

Adrian frowns in confusion. "She did, she told us that if we could pass some test we could stay."

"Did you miss the part where Rose isn't allowed to take the test?" I demand. "Former military aren't allowed to do anything but join the guard, and since she's injured they won't even let her do that."

"She mentioned that." This time it's Mikhail who speaks. "But she came to us yesterday and told us that an exception is being made."

Christian hadn't given Rose or me any indication that Tatiana and the council had changed their position on Rose's situation.

 _Maybe he doesn't know._

 _Or maybe he's hiding something._

I begin shaking my head slowly, "I don't think she was telling you the truth."

Christian would have used that kind of information as a bargaining chip to get Rose and I to agree to staying in Portum. Why would Tatiana lie? We would all eventually learn the truth when they sent Rose away. Unless it didn't matter _if_ we figured it out, it only mattered _when_ we figured it out.

"Lissa what's wrong?" asks Dimitri, his eyes wide and his expression pleading.

"Tatiana lied to you," I say, beginning to rise from the table. "I think she wanted to gain your trust, she needed to buy time."

The three men all get up to follow me, each of them looking confused and fearful. We all walk at a brisk pace, trying not to draw attention to ourselves. I realize then that I probably could have been running around with my hair on fire and no one would have noticed. A crowd has gathered at the far end of the room and everyone's full attention is fixed on something I can't see.

Dimitri moves past me and joins the throng of people. I stick close behind him as he carves a path through the crowd. He shoulders his way past the onlookers and down a wide hallway that leads to the lobby I had passed through on my first night in Portum. Now that it's daytime, I can see that this part of the hotel had not been renovated. The walls and floor are covered with dirt and parts of it are marred with scorch marks.

I hear the dinging noise and then the arrival of the elevator. The crowd lets out a collective gasp as a girl is escorted out of it.

"That's her," someone near me whispers excitedly. "That's the investigator who stole a train."

Rose looks cleaner and healthier than before, but she is flanked by two sinister looking men which is enough to set Dimitri off.

"Roza!" he shouts over the din.

She whips around to find Dimitri striding toward her, but more guards have emerged from the elevator and they move to block his path. Dimitri grapples with one of them while the rest try to restrain him. He rears back and strikes one of them across the jaw with his fist. The guard drops to the floor, and the others recognize that they will need to take more drastic measures to keep Dimitri from getting to Rose. Each of them draws something from their waists in almost perfect unison and I hear a chorus of clicks as they release the safety's on their firearms.

"Don't move!" one of them shouts.

Dimitri, who has a man in a chokehold releases him slowly.

The man who had shouted turns his head slightly to one side to give orders to Rose's escorts. "Get her out of here," he tells them.

I crane my neck, desperate to try and see past the cluster of guards, but I'm just in time to watch Rose being led past the broken glass doors of the Duval and out of sight.

 **So many different fandoms! Do you guys have any reading suggestions? I'm always looking for new books to read, but after I finish my current book I'll be at the end of my reading list.**


	5. Chapter 5

_**Rose –**_

" _The price of anything is the amount of life you exchange for it."_

 _Henry David Thoreau_

Lissa's request that I focus on getting better makes me want to laugh, but it also makes me want to cry. As soon as the door to Christian's apartment shuts I reach behind my neck and pull on the knot of my sling until I feel it come loose. The strips of fabric fall to the ground and lay in a dirty pile at my feet. The sight of them makes me angry, but when I try to clench my fists the fingers attached to my injured arm merely twitch.

I feel weak and because of that I feel lost. Who am I without my strength?

Unable to stand the feeling of my arm hanging limply by my side, I walk over to the couch and throw myself onto it. My eyes close and my thoughts drift almost immediately to Dimitri. I wonder where he is and what he's doing, and if he's thinking about me. Thoughts of Dimitri could consume me if I let them. A part of me _wants_ to let them, to lose myself in dreams and memories. It would be simpler.

I let out a frustrated sigh and try to think of what to do next, but nothing comes to me.

I am alone for only a few minutes before Christian returns. I had been too drained to do anything but sit on the couch. He glances over at me and then pulls the door shut behind him.

"Apparently you have to stay here until the council figures out what to do with you," he tells me as he kicks off his boots and pads toward the kitchenette. "And don't take this the wrong way, but you could really use a shower. You're welcome to use the one down the hall."

Watching Christian Ozera pour himself a bowl of cereal while simultaneously offering me the use of his shower might be the strangest thing that's ever happened to me. I continue to stare at him with a blank expression, not wanting to appear as anxious or uncomfortable as I really am. The last time I had been in a situation with Christian where water was involved had been to simulate drowning.

Without thinking, I take a deep breath to remind myself that this is not the RPD and that Christian is not my instructor.

Christian, probably still able to sense my unease despite my best efforts, sets down his bowl and leans against the counter. "I know how strange this must be for you."

I try to laugh, but instead I produce a series of harsh coughing sounds. "I don't think you do."

He unhitches himself from the counter and strides toward me. I feel myself go rigid on the couch, but I try not to move beyond that as Christian sits down beside me.

"Fair enough," he says, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees. "What can I do to help?"

I can't think of a single thing to say to him. I'm still trying to wrap my head around the fact that he even wants to help me in the first place. The investigator in me warns that he may be trying to lure me into a false sense of security. He wants me to trust him. That much is clear. To trust is to make yourself vulnerable, but sometimes it can make you stronger.

"Why do I have to stay here?" I ask, angling my body away from him. "Where was I staying before?"

"Sage insisted that you stay where she could monitor you while you were unconscious. So the council let her keep you in the medical ward."

"But now that I'm awake they want us to have a slumber party?" I ask incredulously.

He turns his head toward me, looking slightly amused. "I'm just as excited, trust me," he says, his words dripping with sarcasm. "I think it's the council's way of punishing me for making such a fuss over you."

"Why are you making a fuss over me?" I ask. "It doesn't make any sense."

He leans back and openly studies me. "How so?"

"We aren't friends." My words are blunt but they're the truth. "I actually kind of hate you," I add.

Christian doesn't visibly react to my admission. "I know," he tells me, and his tone is tinged with regret. "And I don't blame you."

I feel anger begin to bubble up inside of me. "You don't _blame_ me?" I demand, repeating his own words but with added venom. "Is that your cowardly way of acknowledging what you did to me?"

His blue eyes turn from the color of a pale spring morning to that of a stormy sea. "I have never denied…" his voice trails off as if saying it out loud is too much for him. "It's why I'm trying to help you! Don't you get that?"

"Helping me now doesn't change what happened," I tell him bitterly. "I'm not a charity project, I'm a human being. You can't just use me to make yourself feel better. I didn't come here to free you of your guilt."

"You keep pointing fingers, acting like your hands are clean, but they aren't," he snaps.

I rise from the couch abruptly. "Are you calling me a hypocrite?"

"That's exactly what I'm calling you," he says, standing up to join me. "You keep bringing up my past to forget your own. If I'm a monster then so are you."

"You think I don't know that?" I had meant to shout at him, but my words are deflated. "It's why I can't trust you; it's why I can't understand your need to help me. I look at you, and I see you struggling to do the right thing and it's like looking in a mirror! You're nothing like the person I knew at the Academy, but that person is still the only one I see. I look at you, and I see the monster."

Understanding flashes in his eyes. "You're worried that's how people still perceive you."

"I'm worried that I'll never be anything more than a red belt."

He places one hand on each of my shoulders and squeezes them reassuringly. This time, his touch doesn't make me want to leap out of my skin.

"There are no belts in Portum. You can start over here." He speaks with conviction, and I can see that he truly believes in what he's saying.

I shrug him off. "You said it yourself; they're not going to let me stay here. I'm damaged goods." He opens his mouth to protest but I hold up one hand to silence him. "And even if they would let me stay, you heard Lissa – she wants out."

Christian folds his arms across his chest. "She strikes me as the kind of girl who's used to having things her way."

"You have no idea what kind of girl she is." My words are harder than I had intended them to be and my tone obviously catches Christian off guard.

"Your relationship with the civy is weird," he says furrowing his brows. "How did you meet? Actually, better question, how long have you two been in love with each other?"

I feel my mouth fall open and then I immediately dissolve into a fit of laughter. I place a hand over my side where a stitch has formed from laughing too hard for too long. Christian watches the spectacle with one eyebrow raised.

"Oh," I finally say in between pants. "Are you being serious?"

Christian fixes me with a steady gaze and my laughter quickly turns to annoyance.

"We're not in love," I tell him, thought I can't believe I have to explain it to him. "We're friends."

"Friends?" he scoffs. "If you say so. I hope you're telling the truth because that sort of thing isn't tolerated here."

The annoyance turns to rage.

"What? Love?" I demand.

He shakes his head. "Homosexuality."

Cue volcanic eruption.

"Are you joking?" I ask, though I don't expect him to answer. "Not even the military is that bigoted!"

Christian knows I'm right. Our instructors and tutors didn't care who we slept with as long as it didn't hinder our ability to load a semi-automatic.

"Same-sex relations don't result in biological children," he says, and there is no emotion behind his words. "And part of what we're trying to accomplish is to repopulate – "

"Using only the best and brightest, yeah I remember," I say with blatant disgust.

"It's a little more complicated than that."

"Whatever," I spit, forcing as much venom as I can into the phrase. "I'm going to shower now."

I push past him without another word and stride purposefully down the hallway he had pointed to earlier. The bathroom is small but clean and my shower helps to relieve a little bit of the tension that had built up during my conversation with Christian.

Every time he reveals something about the beliefs of Portum I find it less and less appealing. The irony of my situation is not lost on me. I had fought to escape intolerance, only to face off with another form of it.

Once I have scrubbed myself pink and done my best to comb out my hair, I put my my tattered gray dress back on. I toy with the idea of staying in the bathroom for the rest of the night but eventually force myself to leave its warm confines.

Christian has laid out pillows and blankets on the couch for me, but he is nowhere to be seen. I decide to raid his refrigerator and after consuming at least one-third of its contents, I do my best to make myself comfortable on the couch. Despite having slept for the past three days, I fall asleep almost instantly.

…

The next morning I wake up to the sound of someone banging on the door. I sit up slowly. Without thinking, I stumble bleary-eyed over to the door and wrench it open with a scowl, getting ready to yell at whoever has disturbed me.

"What do…"

My voice trails off when I realize that there is a battalion of uniformed men standing in front of me. I whip around to look for Christian and see that his bed is empty and still made from the day before.

"We need you to come with us," one of the men says in a gruff voice.

"I think I'll pass," I say sweetly, moving to close the door.

The man wedges his boot between the door and the frame before I can shut it.

"Now!" he snaps, shoving his way into the room.

I take a few steps back, weighing my options and trying to plan an escape route. Realizing that I don't really have one, I snatch my boots off the ground and yank them on. This way I can make a run for it the moment the opportunity presents itself.

Whatever these men want isn't good, and Christian isn't here to intervene on my behalf.

 _Where is he?_

…

I have only ridden in an elevator one other time. Had I not felt like I was being marched to the gallows, I might have enjoyed the experience a little more. The fact that the people here at Portum have been able to restore it is a testament to their skill. I almost feel as if I'm standing inside a relic of the past.

One of the guards slaps the button marked with the number one and the elevator lurches downward, creaking under the weight of the men.

I crane my neck, trying to count the number of guards, but I'm too short to see past the first row of beefy heads. They are all so quiet that for a moment I wonder if they're even breathing. The deadly calms sets my teeth on edge. I try to distract myself from the feeling of impending doom that hangs over me like a dark cloud.

Turning to look at the man who stands next to me I ask, "Is this really necessary? All these guards? I mean, I'm just one little girl."

He stares straight ahead, pretending not to hear me. If only he knew that I am more likely to treat his silence as a challenge than a warning to keep my mouth shut.

"If I'm being honest," I say with a sigh. "You're really doing yourselves a disservice. It sends the wrong message, 'Portum Guard Sends out Cavalry to Detain One Injured Female'." I use my good arm to wave dramatically as if I were gesturing to a headline.

The man doesn't flinch, and I have to force myself not to ask if he's a robot.

"But it makes me look awesome." I say puffing out my chest. "Though I am a little offended you didn't feel the need to cuff me. I have a reputation to maintain."

This time the guard resets his jaw in a hard line and I can't help but feel a little triumphant that I've managed to illicit some sort of response. I pride myself on my ability to annoy the people around me and I would hate to think that I've lost my touch.

I open my mouth to ask if he would like to start a fight for publicity's sake, but just then the metal doors slide open. I can tell almost instantly that there are people waiting outside, their hushed whispers are laced with excitement. My heart begins to pound and my hands feel clammy. Are there more guards waiting for me outside? I feel myself growing tenser as I consider my options.

My usual line of defense is as follows: punch the threat, irritate the threat, and lastly – run from the threat.

The buzz of conversation grows louder as the guards begin to exit the elevator. There are more people out there than I initially thought. I can't just smack them all down at the hand of God, as much as I would like to – there are too many.

I feel a hand push me forward.

There probably aren't enough bad jokes in the world to make that crowd go away either.

"Move," a gruff voice commands.

That leaves me with one last option: run.

The familiar rush of adrenaline begins to course through my veins. I take one step forward, then another. I need to focus, I need to get away, and then I need to find my friends.

The voices grow louder with every step, but I tune them all out so that when I cross the threshold I hardly hear a thing. The only sounds I can recognize are the beating of my own heart as it sends blood to my extremities, the rush of air as I push it in and out of my lungs, and...

"Roza!"

I would recognize that voice anywhere. Dimitri calls out to me and it's like a hand dragging me to the surface after having been submerged in frigidly cold water. I turn around to see him struggling to make his way toward me. Our eyes meet and all at once I forget my plans to run, among other things – like how to move or breathe.

 _He's alive._

The rest of the guards pour out from the elevator and move to block me. Dimitri doesn't hesitate and he immediately punches one of them in the face, dropping him like a sack of potatoes. The backs of my eyes sting with unshed tears and I close them, not wanting to see what I know comes next.

Lissa had told me that the guard at Portum is made up of former military, and their protocol for dealing with unruly civilians is pretty simple. Civilian lives are expendable, and if one of them provokes you, feel free to shoot it.

 _It, always it._

The sound of firearms being drawn and the accompanying clicks confirms my fears.

"Don't move!" shouts one of the guards.

I force open my lids and watch as Dimitri slowly releases one of the men from a chokehold. He doesn't look even the slightest bit scared of the multiple barrels pointed at his chest. His dark hair has fallen forward to frame his face and his eyes burn with a fierce determination. Even in the middle of a fight, Dimitri is beautiful.

"Get her out of here!"

I feel multiple hands on me, shoving me backward toward the door. One of them twists my bad arm and I feel pain lance through me. My jaw remains clenched and I manage not to scream, but my face must have betrayed me because I see Dimitri's body go rigid.

 _Don't be stupid._

I shake my head; I smile and stand up straight, trying to do anything and everything to convince him that I'm fine and that he doesn't need to come after me.

One of the guards tugs on me, but I don't acknowledge him and instead I keep my eyes locked on Dimitri. Somehow I manage to walk backward out of the building, not wanting to lose sight of him. Every step takes me further away from him, but it also means keeping him safe. If he sees I'm not worried or hurt, he might back down.

I realize that once I pass the threshold I'll need to turn around, and so I concentrate harder on Dimitri. I try to convey how much I need him to stay safe. His expression is a reflection of the turmoil that swirls within me, all the hurt and the fear, it's all there. I mouth something. I'm not sure if he understands, but it's all I can do before one of the guards spins me around and leads me out of the building.

 **HI! Okay so the reason this took so long is because a certain someone (ahem, Gigi) introduced me to a certain Hunger Games AU story and I haven't done any editing in a few days. Consequently, I haven't really slept either.**

 **Anyways, I made some lame new covers because work was slow; let me know what you think! As always, thank you so much for your reviews! It means so much that you all take the time out of your day to read my stories and then leave me a little something.**

 **One last thing I swear. If you ever want to fangirl with me about VA or books or fanction or whatever, I will 100% talk with you for hours. Okay now I'm done.**


	6. Chapter 6

_**Vasilisa –**_

 _"Man is born free, and everywhere he is in chains. One man thinks himself the master of others, but remains more of a slave than they are."_

 _Jean-Jacques Rousseau_

The doors to the Duval close and Dimitri manages to stand perfectly still. Every guard keeps their eyes trained on him and their weapons remain pointed at his chest, but Dimitri doesn't seem to notice the men or the guns. He stares at the doors on the far side of the lobby, looking more lost than I've ever seen him.

Dimitri has always been on his own. I have never known him to have a family, even though I know he must have had one at some point. He has compensated all these years by caring for and protecting the people around him. Whether it was making sure I had enough to eat whenever Victor became too sick to care for me, or letting Adrian stay in his unit when his parents fought, Dimitri has always been there for the people he loves.

In a way, we have created our own broken and completely unconventional family, but it's still ours, and Rose is a part of it now. Watching her being led away from us – again – is like throwing salt into a wound.

His face warps into something resembling rage, but the pain is still there. "Where are you taking her?" he demands.

A few of the guards exchange questioning looks, but no one breathes a word.

"Tell me!"

Dimitri's booming voice causes a few of the people around me to flinch but the guards remain completely indifferent – they know they hold all the power, only they're not sure of what to do with it.

I see this moment of hesitation as my opportunity to intervene. I elbow my way through the people who still block my path and walk purposefully into the throng of guards. I'm just a girl, and I'm unarmed but I push my way past the men and the guns anyways. My shoulders are thrown back and I do my best to look confident even though I'm still wearing my pajamas. I feel the overwhelming urge to punch Christian in the face the next time I see him. Not because he'd done anything wrong, only because he had been right about my wardrobe choice.

That's when it hits me, I do have a weapon, and his name is Christian Ozera.

I position myself in front of Dimitri and one of the guards rolls his eyes at me. "This doesn't concern you," he tells me, his voice filled with a lazy contempt. I try not to be offended that he doesn't seem to regard me as a threat.

"It does concern me, and it concerns Christian Ozera." I'm surprised when my voice doesn't waver. "We are here under his protection."

One of the guards falters, but the one who had addressed me just looks more annoyed. He mutters something under his breath and then orders his men to stand down. One by one, the guards return their firearms to their holsters, but I can still feel Dimitri practically vibrating with tension behind me.

"I suppose that makes you Vasilisa Dragomir?" asks the guard.

I blink back my surprise and then nod my head. I don't have time to consider how this man knows my name.

"And the large Russian who punched out my man is Dimitri Belikov?"

"Yes," I say before Dimitri can answer for himself.

The man lets out a sigh, "Where are the other two?"

It takes me a moment to figure out that he's referring to Adrian and Mikhail.

"Here!" shouts Adrian from somewhere in the crowd.

Everyone's heads turn to watch Adrian weave his way through the bodies with Mikhail following closely behind him.

"I have orders to escort the four of you to the House Chamber," says the guard as Adrian and Mikhail join Dimitri and me at the center of the lobby.

Dimitri shoves me to the side as gently as he can and approaches the man. "Is that where they took Rose?"

The man holsters his weapon and nods. "The council has gathered to discuss the status of Investigator Hathaway. If you all will follow me..." He says as he gestures to the doors.

The four of us exchange anxious looks, but each of us knows that the others will follow. We have to find Rose, and we have to leave Portum.

…

Our escort explains to us that the House Chambers are a part of the old Capitol building that had been used by state legislators prior to the formation of NAAMA. The journey offers us another view of Portum, but the streets we walk down now are just as ruined as the ones I have already seen. We pass by a series of buildings with their windows smashed in and their doors falling off of the hinges.

"I love what you've done with the place," says Adrian, jogging up to walk beside the guard.

The man turns to glare at him but Adrian doesn't seem fazed. "It's for our own protection."

Adrian glances at an over turned vehicle, parts of jagged metal protrude from the rusted heap of carnage. "Protection?" he asks sarcastically. "This place is only safe if you've had a tetanus shot in the past five years."

"All Portum citizens receive standard immunizations upon arrival," states the guard. This time he doesn't bother looking at Adrian when he speaks.

"Lovely," says Adrian with a dramatic sigh.

Adrian starts to say something else, but a hand on my shoulder pulls my attention away from him. I turn to see Dimitri, gesturing with his chin to slow down. We both do our best to hang back without drawing attention to ourselves. Mikhail walks past us and joins Adrian and the guard. He and Adrian take turns asking him questions about Portum to distract him.

Dimitri doesn't bother with pleasantries. "Did I hear you say _Ozera_ back there?" he asks under his breath.

I swallow hard before answering. "Yes, he's the Executor's nephew." Dimitri's expression darkens. "It's not what you think! He used to be an investigator, but something happened and he…he left, he came here."

"He used to be in the RPD?" Dimitri asks.

"Rose knows who he is," I tell him, guessing where Dimitri's line of questioning will lead. "She doesn't trust him."

"You seem to," Dimitri says, his tone is cold and I feel the hairs on the back of my neck begin to prickle.

"I don't trust him," I snap.

It's true, I don't trust Christian. The past few weeks have taught me that trust is a double-edged sword. Those who trust easily are just as easily deceived, and those who trust in nothing usually have nothing to hold on to. I may not trust Christian, not in the way that I trust my friends, but that doesn't mean I think he's a bad person.

"He wants to help us," I say, running a hand through my already disheveled hair. "I think we would be stupid not to let him."

"I think we would be stupid to believe anything that these people tell us," says Dimitri through gritted teeth. "We've been here for three days and we have been fed nothing but lies and half-truths."

"We'll figure it out," I tell him, trying to sound reassuring, but my words feel hollow and I know Dimitri isn't comforted by them.

"What about Rose?" His voice is low and calm, but I can still sense the tendrils of desperation that have crept into his words. "That Tatiana woman told us she would be integrated into the Portum population, despite her injury. Now we're being taken to some kind of tribunal to determine her fate?" Dimitri sounds as confused as he does angry.

My stomach has begun tying itself in knots, and my insides fold over on themselves. "Tatiana lied to you."

That's the only thing I can be certain of.

"The last time we talked to Christian, he was still trying to make a case for her to stay," I tell him, remembering what Christian had said about the council.

"Why?" demands Dimitri, his voice a little louder than it needed to be. "Why does he care whether or not she stays?"

I avert my eyes. "I don't know."

Just then, the guard comes to an abrupt halt. "We're here," he says, gesturing to a massive building on our right.

It stands more than three stories tall, and the white paint has begun to fade. Tattered red and white awnings hang from each of the windows, but despite the ruined state of the building, it's still imposing. At its center is a tower that stretches high into the air, a bleached beacon against a sheet of blue sky.

"Is this where you live?" asks Adrian, shoving his hands into his pockets and grinning at the guard.

The guard ignores Adrian. "This part of the Capitol was built in 1824; the House and Senate Chambers were constructed years later."

"History was never my favorite subject," Adrian states while yawning.

This is actually a lie; Adrian's best subject has always been history. He has an uncanny ability to remember dates and small details. His fondness for reading and for creating his own stories has given him an unparalleled understanding of the importance of how history is written, and by whom.

Adrian also feels the need to downplay his talents, and so he lies, and his words are coated with a dazzling boredom.

The guard shakes his head in disgust. "This way."

…

As it turns out, the House Chamber is the same room that Rose and I had been brought to on our first night in Portum. Now that I am not hindered by fear, I have more of an appreciation for the dark paneled walls and the high ceilings. The people of Portum had obviously gone to considerable lengths to restore it to its former glory. The sleek furniture and the marble counters shine brilliantly under the light of the chandelier that hangs from the domed ceiling.

Our escort leads us through rows of benches, each filled with people. As I scan the crowd, I realize that there are no children. I wonder if it's because they aren't permitted to attend events like a council session, or because there are no children in Portum. When I study the room even more closely, I notice that there are no seniors among the sea of people; no one looks to be over the age of fifty, save for Tatiana.

She sits at the front of the room, her white hair piled neatly at the crown of her head. The man who sits next to her whispers something into her ear but she doesn't seem to notice. Her eyes remain fixed on something that I cannot see. Just looking at her ignites a boiling rage within me.

The four of us are instructed to sit together in a bench off to the side where we are somewhat isolated from the rest of the room. No one pays us much attention; they are too busy discussing the events that took place in the lobby of the Duval.

I sit on the edge of the bench with Dimitri to my left, then Adrian, and then Mikhail. I wring my hands together in my lap so viciously that when I look down I see that my wrists are braceletted with red.

I nearly leap out of my skin when I hear someone whisper in my ear from behind me. "Lissa," the voice is sharp at first, but thins out as the speaker continues. "It's Christian, don't turn around." I nod my understanding. "I'm sorry that I didn't tell you about the council meeting, I didn't know…"

His voice tapers off when Tatiana's eyes break away from whatever had been holding her attention. She rises from her seat and the entire room falls deadly silent. I feel Christian move behind me and then watch as he approaches the bench. He casts a look over his shoulder before taking a seat at the far end of the massive table. He looks genuinely sorry, but he also looks scared.

I fight the urge to be sick. Christian hadn't been told that today's meeting would decide Rose's future. The only reason I can think of for the council keeping Christian in the dark is because they wanted him to be unprepared to fight on her behalf.

All eyes are on Tatiana when she speaks. "Quiet down, please," she orders despite the fact that no one has dared to utter word since she stood from her seat. "On behalf of the Council, I would like to apologize for interrupting your schedules; we know how important your work is." She pauses for effect. "However, the council felt that today's session would provide its own, very special reward." She smiles, but there is no warmth. "It will serve as a reminder of all that we have achieved, but more importantly, what we have sacrificed to achieve it."

The word _sacrifice_ causes my heart to spasm in my chest.

"By now, I am sure you have all learned that we have recently been joined by four newcomers from the Midwestern Province. Assuming that each one passes our little… _test_ , they will be joining you for lessons in the coming week."

Adrian leans forward in his seat to look at me, one of his brows raised in confusion. Tatiana is talking as if nothing is wrong – as if she hadn't issued individual threats to each of us. I manage to offer Adrian a shrug.

"Four," Dimitri breathes. "Not five."

Dimitri doesn't need to elaborate beyond those three words. His meaning is plane – Rose will not be included.

"Please offer them assistance when needed, and guidance when necessary," says Tatiana in a disgustingly sweet voice.

I feel my hands curl into fists, my jagged nails digging into my palm.

"Now, onto more important matters," she says, adjusting the collar of her blouse. "Investigator Hathaway, if you will."

My head jerks in the direction of Tatiana's gaze, and I see that she had been staring at Rose when we had entered the House Chamber. Rose walks into the center of the room and stands directly beneath the chandelier.

Her head is held high, her shoulders thrown back. Despite her soiled clothing and matted hair, she looks every bit the soldier I had seen the first time we had met. Her expression is the picture of neutrality, if she is intimidated or frightened by her surroundings, I can't tell.

"She isn't wearing the sling," I whisper to Dimitri.

He tenses beside me, but doesn't answer.

Tatiana lowers herself onto the ornate bench, and waits a few moments before speaking. "State your name for the record."

"Rosemarie Hathaway." Rose's voice rings across the expanses of the chamber, clear and steady.

"And what is your profession, Rosemarie?" asks Tatiana, even though she already knows the answer.

"I am a former Investigator for the Risk Prevention Department."

Tatiana's expression is as unwavering as Rose's when she asks, " _Former_ profession?"

"Are you hard of hearing?" asks Rose in a mockingly polite tone. She clears her throat. "I. Am. Not. An. Investigator." She over enunciates each word, drawing out a few giggles from the crowd.

Ignoring the chatter, Tatiana continues with her line of questioning. "The Executor does not make a habit of releasing her soldiers from duty."

Rose snorts with laughter, "Tell me about it."

Tatiana is not amused. "Miss Hathaway, that sort of behavior will not be tolerated here."

Rose's expression betrays her emotions, and I see the bitterness etched into the hard lines of her face. "From what I've learned so far, you aren't willing to tolerate much."

A few murmurs escape from the people sitting around us, but one quelling look from Tatiana shuts everyone up.

Tatiana clears her throat and then turns her attention back on Rose. "Here at Portum, we have survived because we are selective – "

"Is that really your excuse for turning people away? That your precious _Portum_ wouldn't survive if a few of its citizens were disabled?" Rose's tone is acid. "There is more to a person than what you see on the outside, I am more than – "

"More than what?" asks Tatiana before Rose can finish. "Were you going to say more than a solider? My dear, that is all that you are."

Her words hit Rose like a slap in the face and I feel Dimitri begin to rise from his seat. I pull hard on the bank of his shirt and yank him back down.

"No," I hiss. "You won't make it five feet." I nod my chin in the direction of the guards that ring the room.

"Tell me, Rosemarie, were you raised by your parents?" asks Tatiana maliciously.

This time Tatiana's words are like a swift kick in the gut. "No," answers Rose through clenched teeth.

"By a relative then?"

Rose doesn't answer.

Rose's silence seems to please Tatiana. "How old are you?"

"Eighteen," says Rose, her voice thick with contempt.

Tatiana purses her lips. "You have spent eighteen years in the military," she is no longer asking questions, but addressing everyone in the room. "Eighteen years of depravity, being trained to hunt, torture, and kill – eighteen years of brainwashing and severe emotional manipulation. My heart goes out to you, truly it does, but there is no coming back from that sort of life."

"Then why let them stay?" demands Rose, pointing a finger at the guards. "They're former military!"

"They are," says Tatiana pointedly, "And they have been allowed to serve Portum in the only way they know how. You are unfit to do even that, and for that reason, the council has elected to expel you from the city at sunset."

This hadn't been a session to discuss Rose's fate; the council had already made their decision. This session had been held to announce her fate publicly, to remind the people of Portum of the laws that govern them and supposedly allow them to thrive. Tatiana is making an example of Rose, weakness will not be tolerated.

"There is nothing wrong with me," snaps Rose, and to my astonishment, she places both hands on her hips. "If you'd like a demonstration, I could snap your neck for you."

The room lets out a collective gasp at Rose's threat.

"Silence!" thunders Tatiana.

"There is nothing wrong with me," Rose continues, her voice growing louder and more defiant. "I deserve the same opportunities afforded to all former military. How am I any different from Christian Ozera? You thought so highly of him that you gave him a council seat!"

My gaze falls on Christian, who looks pale but not that surprised Rose would shift the attention onto him.

"Christian Ozera has proven his worth," sneers Tatiana.

A slow, malicious smile spreads across Rose's face. "Then allow me to prove mine."

"What could you possible have to offer beyond knowing how to shoot a gun?" scoffs Tatiana.

Rose takes a step toward Tatiana, "I know things," she says casually. "Things that I probably shouldn't."

Tatiana allows herself to look intrigued for only a brief moment before asking, "What kind of things?"

"The kind of information one would acquire by breaking into a government holding facility." Rose twirls a strand of hair around her finger, her eyes glinting mischievously.

"I told you it was her," I hear someone whisper from behind me.

"Go on," says Tatiana, trying too hard to sound uninterested.

"I know about the campaign launched by the Executor to find the Havens," says Rose confidently.

"So do we," says Tatiana. "If this is the kind of information you have to offer, then please don't waste your breath."

Rose ignores Tatiana. "I know the search was called off before the RPD could explore the Southeastern Province, and I know it was because the Executor wanted to focus on the Purge."

Tatiana and the other members of the council go rigid, each turning varying shades of white and green.

"Excuse me?" asks Tatiana, her voice uneven.

Realization flickers in Rose's eyes; she has something now, something that could buy her time. Only it's difficult to discern which part of her statement had caused the council to react the way that they had. One step in the wrong direction could shatter any chance that Rose has.

"I know about the Purge," says Rose, taking a chance. I can tell from the way her mouth has tightened and her fists have clenched that she is bluffing.

Tatiana whispers something to each of the council members sitting next to her. I can't hear what they're saying, but I can hear the urgency in their voices.

"This session is over," says Tatiana, rising abruptly from her seat. "Take her away."

The guards move all at once, but as they move toward Rose, Christian moves toward the bench where I sit. He stumbles toward us, the first ungraceful thing I've seen him do, looking slightly panicked.

"Is she lying?" he demands, his eyes darting between the four of us.

Dimitri doesn't respond, he stands up and tries to shove Christian out of his way, but Christian's training allows him to hold Dimitri back.

"Is she lying?" he asks again, this time there is an edge to his voice. "Does she know about the Purge?"

I don't know what to say, and judging from the look on Dimitri's face, he doesn't either.

"She isn't lying," I finally say, shaking my head fervently. "She knows."

"Shit," says Christian, raking a hand through his inky black hair. "Shit, shit, shit…"

Dimitri grabs Christian by his collar, raising him a few inches off of the ground. "What's wrong?" he growls, "Why does it matter?"

Christian manages to wrench himself out of Dimitri's hold and then glares at him. "It doesn't matter now, it's too late" he says, readjusting his shirt. "Tatiana is going to question her, privately."

My blood turns to ice in my veins as I recall how Rose had been questioned in the past. Surely Tatiana wouldn't torture her, or would she?

"I don't understand," I say, and my voice trembles. "Why does it matter if she knows?"

Christian looks almost relieved. "She didn't tell you?"

I bite down on my lip. Rose had told us about the Purge, or at least what she thought it had been: _I think it was the Risk Prevention Department's original mission, I think it was the systematic killing…_

Had she been right? Or is it something worse, something that Tatiana and the other council members want to keep secret? My head is swimming with the possibilities of what it could mean for Rose.

"Lissa," snaps Christian, pulling me from my reverie. "Did she tell you about the Purge?"

I hesitate before answering, "No," I tell him, somehow knowing that lying is the best thing for me to do in this situation.

Christian lets out a breath. "Good."

"Christian, why does it matter if she knows, I thought information made her valuable?"

He smiles meekly, "It could, depending on how much she knows. It could also get her killed."

 **Ugh, sorry that this took forever. The last week was pretty crazy for me!**

 **Who remembers the Purge? What do you think it is? Hearing your predictions is my favorite part, and sometimes they even alter parts of the story. Also, I promise that there is some Romitri in your futures. I don't want to give too much away, but there's a pretty hot reunion coming up.**

 **Just so I know, how do you guys feel about, um…lemons?**


	7. Chapter 7

_**Rose –**_

" _In a time of universal deceit - telling the truth is a revolutionary act."_

 _George Orwell_

Tatiana's office is every bit as gilded and pretentious as I had assumed it would be. After being escorted up what felt like fifty flights of stairs, I end up sitting in an overstuffed leather arm chair at the top of an observatory. Each wall is made up of nothing but metal beams and sheets of thick glass, providing a view of Portum in every direction. I cannot even begin to fathom why she would want such a view, the charred buildings and overturned buses are not very aesthetically pleasing. Although, if her venomous smile is any indication, I guess it would make sense that she enjoys staring at the remnants of a catastrophe all day long. I wouldn't be surprised to learn that she's also into activities like pulling the wings off of butterflies, or using a magnifying glass to burn ants.

She sits behind a polished mahogany desk, her hands folded in front of her and her manicured eyebrows raised expectantly. I try not to meet her prickly gaze; instead I stare straight past her. Behind her I can see through one of the windows to the only patches of green grass I have seen in weeks. Brick structures lie between the fields, and there are even a few massive oak trees still standing.

Tatiana turns around to see what has drawn my attention and her chair groans beneath her as she does. "That's the old university," she tells me, her voice high and tight.

I don't respond at first, partly because talking to Tatiana is about as pleasant as chewing on tinfoil, and partly because I'm too shocked. Executor Ozera had taken special care to raze most learning institutions to the ground, and the fact that I am looking at one right now feels like its own tiny miracle.

"It's part of the reason we chose to settle here," she continues, turning back around to face me.

Tatiana had probably been beautiful at one point, maybe she had been softer and kinder in her younger years, but tragedy has a way of turning people to stone. Now, her wrinkled skin is pulled tightly over high, angular cheek bones, and the permanent scowl on her thin lips makes her features even more severe, more terrifyingly defined.

She clears her throat dramatically, "Do you have anything to say for yourself?"

My face is the picture of neutrality, and I sit slumped in the chair, trying to appear indifferent toward my situation and anything she might say. The truth is, I'm terrified.

The only thing I know for sure about the Purge is that my parents supposedly didn't survive it. I try to recall everything that I can about on the subject. I think back to the holding facility, to the door marked "Restricted Access," and to the room filled with filing cabinets. I'm opening the Insurgencies file and flipping through its contents: _refocus our attention on the Purge._

"You had no problem blabbing about everything you knew downstairs, why the sudden silence?" demands Tatiana shrilly.

Tatiana and the rest of the council are obviously interested in what I know, the shocked looks on their faces had told me that much. Still, it's impossible to know whether that's a good thing, or if it will get me killed. Claiming to know more than I actually do had been a gamble; one that I'm not sure will pay off.

"If you don't tell me what you know, I can assure you that this will be a very short meeting – one that will end badly for you."

Her threats roll right off of me. "And what kind of sureties can you offer if I do tell you what you want to know?"

For a fleeting moment, Tatiana looks impressed. "That remains to be seen."

I lean forward with my elbows resting on my knees. "Yeah, that's not going to work for me."

An annoyingly high cough escapes Tatiana's pursed lips. "What are you asking for then, Rosemarie?"

"If I tell you what you want, then my friends and I get to walk out of here."

"No," she answers almost immediately. "I'm afraid that's not possible."

"Why the hell not?" I ask, letting my voice rise in volume. "Are you running some kind of prison camp? Is the electricity here powered by the blood of strangers or something?"

I smile triumphantly at the disgusted look on her face.

However my triumph dissipates when Tatiana doesn't take the bait. "If your intelligence proves to be valuable, then you cannot be allowed to leave. Who knows what you might reveal to the wrong people."

Whatever the Purge is, she's worried about other people finding out about it. If I can find a way to make her believe that I know the truth, it could be used as leverage; I could agree to keep the Purge to myself if she agrees to let us go. There's also a chance that the council could decide that a firing squad is the best way to keep me quiet.

"I was trained by the RPD," I tell her pointedly. "Keeping secrets is my specialty."

"Apparently not," she snaps. "If you're willing to barter with them."

"Desperate times…" I say drolly.

"I'll tell you what," says Tatiana. "You tell me what you know about the Purge, and I'll agree to let you see our physician."

My heart seizes up for a moment, could the doctors here fix me? I do my best to curl my right hand into a fist, but two of my fingers refuse to move.

"I'm not here to make deals on my own behalf," I say, pushing myself up from the chair. "I'm here to talk about my friends."

Tatiana's cold gaze follows me as I wander over to the window farthest from her desk. "How noble of you," she says, completely deadpan.

I do my best not to whirl around and glare at her. Instead, I focus on the ground that lays 22 stories beneath me.

"If you're worried about me, then fine, I'll stay," I say through gritted teeth. "But you have to let everyone else go."

Pain coils in the pit of my stomach at the thought of being left to rot in this place, but I would do it if it meant that my friends could go free.

"What is it that you think we do here?" asks Tatiana. Her chair squeaks and then I hear the sound of approaching footsteps. "Why are you and Vasilisa so desperate to leave? Do you have somewhere more important to be? Is there some other haven out there that I don't know about?"

For a moment, I'm not quite sure how to answer her question. Is Portum Lux really so backward that it would be better for us to risk the outside world than to stay?

I can't think of a way to articulate my thoughts, and I decide that I don't really care enough about what Tatiana thinks to try. "This place is fucked up," I tell her flatly.

I hear her scoff from somewhere behind me, but I don't bother turning around. A few people can be seen walking on the streets below me, and I watch them as they make their way from place to place, wondering who they are and what had brought them here.

"You want to kick me out because you think I'm broken. Christian says it's because you're trying to establish some kind of accelerated version of natural selection, by allowing only those you deem the best of humanity to live here, and then forcing them to breed." The disgust in my voice is plane. "You're just as bad as the Executor, forcing people to live by these ridiculous standards. We came here to escape that kind of life, and now that we know the truth, we should be allowed to leave."

Tatiana moves to stand beside me, but I force myself to continue staring out the window. "If you really know what the Purge is, then you would know that I am nothing like the Executor," she says, and her voice washes over me like a bucket of ice water.

I peer at her out of the corner of my eye. There is a faraway look on her face, and for once she doesn't look angry or annoyed, she just looks sad. Tatiana no longer resembles the tyrant I had come to view her as.

"I know that the Purge killed my parents," I tell her bleakly, and I'm not sure why I do.

She doesn't flinch at my revelation, instead she looks eerily calm. "The Purge killed many people," she says solemnly before switching gears. "You may not agree with the way we do things here, but we both know that you have no where else to go."

"First you want to send me away, now you're telling me that it would be bad if I did, which is it?" I ask bitterly, trying not to sound as confused as I am.

"Both," she says after a moment of consideration. "I don't want you here. You're arrogant, defiant, and on paper, you have little to contribute to our society."

"You're too kind," I tell her, my words dripping with sarcasm.

"I thought the same thing about Christian Ozera when he approached me four years ago," she says, sounding almost wistful. "Investigators are a rare breed of soldier. They are the most cunning, a trait I greatly admire, but they are also the most cruel, a trait that some are born with and the rest have thrust upon them."

I feel my body go rigid. She's right, but I won't admit that to her.

"I am former military," she continues, and I open my mouth to respond, but she cuts me off before I can. "Not NAAMA military, United States Air Force. I assumed a different identity after the Pulse, and ended up in the Southeastern Province. I knew after what happened with the EMP that I would be targeted, and I did my best to blend into the compound population, but Christian managed to find me anyways."

What makes her think that she would be targeted after the Pulse? It doesn't make any sense, unless…

 _Unless she had something to do with it._

"Why are you telling me this?"

"It's important that you understand how we ended up here," says Tatiana before continuing with her story. "I thought he was going to arrest me. Instead, he came to me with an idea – an idea that you now know as Portum Lux. I thought he was crazy, I couldn't believe that an investigator would want the things he was talking about. I couldn't understand what motivated him, until he told me about the Purge."

My pulse quickens, whatever I had been able to piece together so far on the Purge is not the whole picture. I'm still missing something.

"I read about the Purge at the holding facility," I tell her, still doing my best to avoid her cool stare. "It's why the Risk Prevention Department was established." I try to speak my words in the form of a statement and not a question.

"It is," she says, and I let out an inaudible sigh of relief. "It was the start of Natasha's reign of terror, her campaign against the truth. She had people hunted down and killed for what they knew, for what she was scared they might reveal to others."

"What is she so afraid of?" I muse more to myself than to Tatiana.

"Aha," says Tatiana, sounding amused.

This time I do turn my head to look at her. "Aha, what?"

"You're finally asking the right questions," she says with a tightlipped smile. "Maybe you're not as useless as you seem."

"What do you mean the right questions?" I ask, ignoring her dig.

"As much as it pains me to admit, you're a clever girl. And your regard for your friends tells me that perhaps the RPD hasn't completely ruined you. However, it's also clear to me that you don't know nearly as much as you would like me to believe," she says, turning to walk back to the far side of the room.

"That doesn't answer my question," I reply, pivoting to watch as she starts rummaging through the papers that lay on her desk.

"The Purge," she says, not looking up from her desk. "You know what happened, but you don't know _why_ it happened."

"She wants to keep NAAMA in the dark," I tell her, striding purposefully toward her. "She killed all the scientists and teachers to make sure it stayed that way."

"Yes, but _why_ , Rosemarie?" she asks exasperatedly.

"I don't know!" I say throwing up one arm in frustration. "Because she's crazy?"

She looks up at me with a scowl. "Don't be stupid, Rosemarie, it will get you thrown out of Portum."

I narrow my eyes at her. "Does that mean you're going to let me stay?"

She lets out a defeated sigh, "Temporarily."

I try not to appear as relieved as I am. Temporary is actually the best I could have hoped for. Temporary means I can recover from my injuries; and it means I have time to figure out what Tatiana and the council are hiding.

Tatiana opens one of the desk drawers and withdraws a metal object. Judging by the way that she holds it up to her mouth, I'm guessing that it's some sort of communication device.

"Sage?" she says curtly.

A second voice crackles over the device's speaker a few moments later. "Ma'am?"

"Clear tomorrow morning's schedule, I need you to run an EMG on Miss Hathaway."

"Will do," says the voice.

Tatiana puts the device back into the drawer.

"EMG?" I ask.

"It will help us to determine how severe your injury is," she says, turning and walking toward the room's only exit. "My guard will escort you to Miss Dragomir's room. I'm assuming the two of you won't mind sharing?"

I have to blink back my surprise before responding. "No."

"Try to behave yourself," she says, opening the door and then turning to whisper something to the man who stands outside of it.

My only response is to stare at her incredulously before brushing past her. The door falls shut behind me and the guard gestures for me to follow him. The journey down the stairs barely fazes me as I replay my conversation with Tatiana over again in my mind. She's hiding something from me, something that involves the Purge and the RPD.

 _Why?_

 _What is the Executor so afraid of?_

 _What is Tatiana so worried about people knowing?_

I follow the guard down the stairs and through a series of passages until we finally emerge from the capitol building. I blink a few times as my eyes adjust to the sun, and even though it is out in full force, the air is still cold. Then I practically skip down the large stone steps and down the street toward the Duval. I have to find Dimitri and the others so I can tell them what happened. A part of me wants to find Christian first; I have to ask him about the Purge. What could be worse than systematically killing an entire portion of the population? What had been so bad that it would convince Tatiana to come out of hiding to establish Portum Lux? Whatever the Purge had been, Christian can tell me, but would he?

I pass by a few people as I make my way down the street. Some openly gawk at me and others do their best to avoid walking on the same sidewalk as me. I search their faces, hoping against all odds that I might know one of them.

The Duval looms in the distance, and a few people stand in front of it. My heart leaps into my throat when I finally spot a familiar face.

Suddenly I'm running; I'm running faster and faster and the decimated buildings pass by me in a blur of gray and black and white. My tired muscles burn from the exertion. I haven't stretched my legs in what feels like ages, but they begin to remember their old strength as I will myself to move faster. You would think my years of training would have prepared me for this moment, but the events of the past few days have made me weak. My lungs start screaming out for me to stop, but the pain is nothing compared to the dull ache that has begun to leak out of my heart and into my chest. I forget Christian; I forget the council, and the Purge. My only thought is to put one foot in front of the other.

The street seems to stretch out for miles. The faster I move, the farther away he gets, until he finally turns to see me running toward him. Now he's running too.

And then I'm crashing. I throw myself into his arms. I feel him bury his face in my neck and he murmurs something to me in Russian. I need to pull him closer, I need to touch every part of him – but even that might not be enough. The air around us is cold and a gust of wind whips my tangled hair all around us. He pulls away slightly and uses one hand to sweep my hair behind my ear.

He studies me intently, probably wanting to make sure that I'm not hurt. I try to do the same, but my vision is blurry and it takes me a moment to realize that it's because my eyes have glossed over with unshed tears. Maybe it's because his image had been branded into my memory with a hot iron from the moment I met him, but even through my teary haze I can see him perfectly.

He sucks in a deep breath and his dark eyes stare into mine. There is no light reflected in them – no flecks of gold, just endlessly deep brown eyes that seem to suck me in and swallow me whole. He keeps one arm wrapped around my waist, and the other slides across my neck and moves up to cup my cheek. I close my eyes and press myself against his palm, wanting to make sure that he's real – that this moment is real.

"You're okay," he breathes, and I'm not sure if he's talking to me, or to himself.

"I'm okay," I say, and I feel the corners of my mouth pull up into a genuine smile. I had almost forgotten what it's like to smile.

We cling to each other as if letting go would result in the universe collapsing in on itself. I want to press my lips to his, to taste his skin beneath my tongue, to run my hands across the hard lines of his body, but a distant part of my brain reminds me that we're standing in the middle of the street. My need ignites something in the air, and I can no longer feel the wind that rushes past us. I lean my head against his chest, and I smile even more broadly at the sound of his racing heart.

I allow myself a few more moments of bliss before pulling away. We have time now, time to be together, but before that can happen we have to figure out what had led to the founding of Portum Lux.

"Are they letting you stay?" Dimitri asks, his voice a little strained.

I take a breath to steady myself. "For now."

Dimitri arches an eyebrow, "What do you mean for now? What did you tell them?"

"Enough to give us a chance."

He doesn't look any less confused. "That's…cryptic," he says with a slight frown. "Give us a chance to do what?"

 _To find the truth._

"It's better if I tell everyone all at once."

The hand that had been cradling my cheek slides down my arm. I feel his fingers lace with mine and he gives me a reassuring squeeze. He has no idea what I'm talking about, no idea what I have planned next, but he's still the one trying to reassure me. The thought makes me dizzy and I suddenly feel undeserving of someone like Dimitri.

He and the others have followed me across the country; I can only hope that they'll follow me just a little further.

 ***Cries bc Romitri***

 **Everything has been so tense and serious so I had to write this fluffy reunion scene.**

 **Hopefully this chapter wasn't confusing; I had to set up a lot of plot points. Also as far as my citrusy writing is concerned, I think what's gonna happen is I'm going to write two versions of the scene – one that goes with the usual flow of the story – and the other will be smut.**

 **I'm going to introduce Sydney soon. So far, I have some flirtatious interactions with Adrian planned, but nothing too crazy. I was just wondering how many Sydrian fans are reading this? Would you guys want me to elaborate on their story? Let me know! As always, your reviews are appreciated and I love you all!**


	8. Chapter 8

_**Lissa –**_

" _Pain and suffering are always inevitable for a large intelligence and a deep heart. The really great men must, I think, have great sadness on earth."_

― _Fyodor Dostoyevsky_

The steps that lead to the Duval are not comfortable, but I sit perched at the top of them anyways with my knees pulled to my chest and my arms wrapped tightly around them. Christian had ordered me to wait for him in my room, promising that he would find out what had happened to Rose and meet me there. I had never made it past the front door of the Duval though, not wanting to find myself trapped in the room like before. Christian could find me just as easily here as he could upstairs.

So I wait – watching Dimitri pace back and forth, his eyes darting around the streets every few seconds. Adrian leans against one of the dirty walls of a nearby building, talking animatedly with Mikhail about something I can't hear.

Dimitri's head jerks up suddenly, and before I can ask him what's wrong, he takes off running down the street. I pull myself up and nearly trip trying to run down the steps after him, but I manage to make it to the bottom just in time to see Rose throw herself into Dimitri's arm. They stand in the middle of the street, clinging to each other as if they were trying to meld their two bodies into one.

A cold hand wraps itself around my heart, and I force myself to look away. I feel a pang of jealousy shoot through me, and I hate myself for it.

Jealousy is a strange emotion. When you feel angry or hurt, it can motivate you to change or to accomplish something. Despair and pain allow us to appreciate all the good in the world. But jealousy is different; there is no potential for change or for goodness. It forces you to want in the worst way and for the worst reasons.

I'd like to think that I'm above feeling something so petty, but I'm not. It courses through my veins like a bitter poison, clouding my vision and tainting my thoughts.

I don't resent Rose because I want to be where she is, and I don't hate Dimitri because I'm possessive of Rose. I don't want them in the way that they want each other – I just want what they have. Against all odds, they have managed to find love. I'm happy for them, truly I am, but in this moment I realize that what I want more than anything in the world is to find what they have found. It makes me feel like a selfish child.

I take a deep breath, attempting to push out the jealousy and the loneliness along with the air.

Adrian and Mikhail join me at the bottom of the steps, Adrian grinning from ear to ear, looking as if he's about to say something highly inappropriate about what had just transpired in the middle of the street.

"Don't," I say, holding up a hand.

He visibly deflates. "You're missing out."

"I'm sure."

I turn to see Rose running toward me now, though not with the same enthusiasm she had displayed earlier. I feel the darkness from earlier begin to dissipate, appreciating for the first time that Rose is okay. She's running, smiling even, and no one is trying to stab her or put her in handcuffs. She pulls me into a hug, squeezing out the rest of the negativity. When she steps back, I feel nothing but a sweet relief at seeing that she's alright.

"Do you know where Christian is?" she asks.

I try not to look as surprised as I am. "He went to find out what happened to you."

Her expression falls a little. "I need to talk to him. It's important," she adds for emphasis.

"He told me to wait for him in my room, that he would come find me as soon as he learned something."

She glances up at the Duval, trying to figure out what to do next.

"What's going on?" I ask. "Has the council decided to let you stay? What did you tell them about the Purge?" I suddenly have a million questions for Rose.

"I'll explain as soon as I can, I promise," she tells me, her eyes still on the towering building. "I just need to talk to Christian first."

"We can wait for him upstairs," offers Dimitri.

The sound of his voice is what pulls her attention away from the Duval. "I guess that's as good a plan as any," says Rose, though she doesn't sound very confident.

The five of us walk up the stone steps of the Duval and into its lobby. Now that it isn't crawling with Portum guards, I can see it more clearly. Cracks run through the marble floor, cutting the swirling mass of black and silver stone into tiled pieces that fit together like a jigsaw puzzle. The walls look like they used to be covered in paper, but now the remaining wall coverings hang in shreds – barely clinging to the dirty plaster and drywall. The elevator button remains the only sign of not just human intelligence, but of human life.

Adrian rushes forward ahead of the group and slams his palm against the button. "Yes!" He shouts, grinning at us triumphantly. "I…uh, I really wanted to press the button," he says sheepishly, turning away, but not before we all watch as his cheeks turn a brilliant shade of crimson.

Rose rolls her eyes, but on her mouth is a smile, one that makes me think Adrian might be growing on her. She bites down on her lip when she catches me watching her. I want to tell her that her secret is safe with me. After all, the last thing Adrian needs to hear is that Rose has developed a soft spot for him. His head would probably swell and he would be too top heavy to get around without assistance.

The elevator dings and the doors slide open. We all clamber inside; Dimitri trailing after Rose like a shadow.

"What floor?" asks Adrian, his hand hovering over the panel.

The five of us exchange questioning looks as the elevator doors begin to slide shut. Nothing but a small gap remains when a hand darts between the doors and wrenches them apart.

Christian stands across the threshold, breathing heavily. "Room for one more?" he asks, panting.

Before anyone can answer, he steps inside, wedging himself in between Adrian and me. My heart seizes up in my chest momentarily as his shoulder brushes mine. His chest rises and falls rapidly, and it's clear that he had just been running.

"I thought I told you to wait in your room," he says without looking at me.

I don't bother responding; instead I turn around to look at Rose, hoping she'll give me a sign as to what to do next. She had come to the Duval to talk to Christian, and for whatever reason, I find myself incapable of doing just that. I try to inch away from him, but it's pointless. The elevator is too small. I wonder if she still wants to talk to him, a part of me hopes that she doesn't and that we can all get off the elevator soon. The air feels suddenly warmer, and the walls seem to have closed in slightly.

"Christian," says Rose after a moment of awkward silence. "Can I talk to you?"

Apparently she still wants to talk to him.

"You can," says Christian tauntingly.

"In private," she says, straining to keep her tone neutral.

He lets out a dramatic sigh. "Fine."

He reaches forward and hits another button, bringing the elevator to an abrupt halt. Christian steps out and gestures for Rose to follow him. She glances at Dimitri, who looks uneasy and I can't say that I blame him; we just got her back.

"I'll meet you guys upstairs," she says, offering Dimitri and the rest of us a reassuring smile.

She passes through the doors of the elevator without another word.

"What do you think that's all about?" asks Adrian as we continue to ascend.

"It can't be good," says Dimitri.

Mikhail gives him a questioning look. "What makes you say that? Are they letting her stay?"

Dimitri frowns in thought, "For now."

"What do you mean _for now_?" asks Adrian. "And what has Captain Ass-Hat got to do with it?"

"Which one is that again?" Mikhail asks, turning to Adrian.

"Are you talking about Christian?" I ask just as the elevator comes to a halt.

"As a matter of fact I am," says Adrian, raising his chin and then stepping off.

Mikhail follows Adrian into the hallway. "Shouldn't we call him Councilman Ass-Hat then?"

Dimitri shoots me a look that's a mixture of annoyance and amusement. I shrug and together we exit the elevator before it can take off again.

Mikhail and Adrian's voices float down the hall, and I can hear them discussing the appropriate titles to use when calling someone an ass. They don't seem to be moving in any particular direction, and I realize that it's because they don't know where my room is.

"Maybe we could go to your room?" I suggest to Dimitri, recalling that mine is a wreck.

"We're already here though," Adrian hollers from where he stands.

I glare at him and head in the opposite direction, walking until I find my room. All the doors look the same though, and it takes me a moment to find it. I stand frozen outside of my door, and the boys all give me expectant looks.

I let out a sigh. "Don't judge me," I say, pushing open the door to reveal the torn sheets, shattered plates, and broken bulbs.

Adrian lets out a low whistle. "You did all this?" he asks in disbelief.

I shrug as if destroying my living quarters isn't that big of a deal and walk past them into the room. "It seemed like a good idea at the time," I tell them over my shoulder. "Very therapeutic"

I walk over to the bare mattress and sit down among the tattered sheets and loose feathers. Adrian and Mikhail take up places on the sofa, Adrian even going as far as to kick his feet up on the coffee table. Dimitri hovers near the door, not taking his eyes off of it.

"You know," says Adrian with a yawn, "If you stare hard enough at the door, it will make her come back faster."

"Shut up, Adrian," I say, patting down the mattress in search of something to throw at his head.

Dimitri doesn't react though. His expression remains guarded, but the tension in his shoulders and jaw give him away. His patience is usually infinite, especially when it comes to Adrian. He can see right through Adrian's sarcasm and inappropriate remarks, but I'm not sure if that's still the case now that Rose is involved.

The door bursts open just then, and Rose rushes into the room in a red-faced fury. Her fists are clenched at her sides and I worry for a moment that she'll punch the first person she sees.

She stalks over to where I sit on the bed and throws herself down next to me. "I hate him," she says, folding her arms across her chest. "He's such an – " She pauses for a moment, probably searching for the right word to express her feelings.

"An ass-hat?" offers Adrian, perking up from the couch.

"Rose, what happened?" asks Dimitri as he strides over to us. "What did Christian tell you?"

"That's just it," she says, throwing up one hand in frustration. "He wouldn't tell me _anything!"_ Rose flops back on the mattress, scowling as she does. "He's so full of shit."

"Roza," Dimitri says as soothingly as he can. "Tell us what happened, maybe we can help."

Rose props herself up on her elbows and their eyes meet. I feel like I should look away, that I'm interrupting something intimate, even though all they're doing is looking at each other. She sucks in a deep breath, her chest rising as she does.

"I don't even know where to start," she says, sitting up the rest of the way.

"How about your private chat with Tatiana," suggests Adrian, shivering at the mention of her name. "She's a real piece of work.

Rose snorts, "That's an understatement. But she has decided to let me stay."

"Why the sudden change of heart?" asks Mikhail, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees. "She seemed pretty hell bent on kicking you out during that meeting."

"She still wants to," says Rose, twisting a lock of hair around her finger absentmindedly. "But she won't because she's scared of what I know. She says I'm _smarter_ than she thought I'd be."

If she's offended by Tatiana's assumption I can't tell, her face betrays nothing.

Dimitri moves to sit down next to Rose on the bed. "And what does any of this have to do with the Purge?"

Rose's hand falls down to her lap in defeat. "Do you remember what I told you…before we left? About how I thought the Purge was the RPD's original mission?"

Dimitri nods. "Were you right?"

"Yes," she says slowly. "And no. I'm missing something…and it somehow involves Tatiana and the Executor."

"Is that why you wanted to talk to Christian?" asks Adrian. "Since he and the Executor are, ya know, _related_. Also, are we not going to talk about that? I thought the Ozera's were all dead. Didn't they die during the Pulse?"

Something flickers in the depths of Rose's eyes. "All of them except for Christian and the Executor," she says more to herself than to anyone in the room.

"What is it?" I ask, sensing that Rose is onto something, teetering on the edge of what she's trying to figure out.

"The Purge was a killing campaign, it was the beginning of the end basically – no more scientists, no more learning, no nothing," says Rose, her words tumbling out as she rises to her feet. "We know _what_ the Purge is, but we don't know _why_ it happened in the first place." She begins pacing the floor, her hands clasped behind her back as she does. "What is she so afraid of?"

"The Executor's rule is founded on fear," says Dimitri. "People supported her because she wanted to rid the world of technology, the same technology that resulted in the Pulse."

Dimitri's words dredge up memories of the Anniversary speech that the Executor delivers every year: _We have emerged stronger, and more prepared than ever. We are no longer forced to rely on gadgets and devices so that we may survive - the same gadgets that turned on us 16 years ago. Never again will we be vulnerable to such an attack_

"Yes," says Rose, not looking at Dimitri. "I know why the people are afraid of learning, but why is the Executor?"

"Why can't it be for the same reason?" I ask, trying to figure out what Rose is getting at.

"It can't be that simple," Rose says, moving to stand in front of the shielded window. "Whatever the reason is, it has something to do with Tatiana. The Council is hiding something."

"Let me guess," says Adrian drolly. "You want to find out what it is?"

"Of course I do," Rose shouts, rounding on Adrian. "The Purge is the reason my parents are _dead_ , and I want to know why. If you don't want to help, fine, there's the door."

Adrian clamps his mouth shut, and a heavy silence falls across the room. Rose turns back around slowly, her expression pained.

"Sorry," she grumbles, though she doesn't sound all that sorry. "I didn't mean to snap at you."

"It's fine," says Adrian, taking his feet off the table. "I get it; of course we'll help you. I only meant that we just got here, and already we're plotting and trying to unravel all of these complicated conspiracies. The Purge, the Executor, the Council, it's all so messy." Adrian sounds strangely serious.

"You're right," admits Rose. "It's complicated, and finding out the truth will take some digging, but we don't have to bust out the shovels right now."

"How about we get something to eat instead," Dimitri says, rising from the bed. "When was the last time you ate something?"

Rose smiles at him gratefully, and all the tension from earlier disappears. "I can always eat, Comrade" she tells him, striding over to where he stands. "Then you can show me around. So far all I've scene of Portum is a broom closet and those stuffy council chambers, and I'm not all that impressed with either"

"Count me in," says Adrian, practically leaping off the couch.

Mikhail rises and together the four of them make their way to the door, but I feel rooted to the spot.

"Aren't you coming?" Rose asks, one hand on the doorknob.

I shake my head. "I'm pretty tired, I might take a nap and meet you guys downstairs later," I lie.

Rose stares at me appraisingly, sensing that I'm not being entirely forthcoming. She waits for Adrian, Mikhail and finally Dimitri, to leave the room.

"What's wrong?" she asks, letting the door fall shut behind her.

"I'm fine," I insist. "I'm just feeling a little drained, that's all."

She tries to arch an eyebrow. "You know I can tell when you're lying, right? It's one of my many gifts."

"Apparently raising one eyebrow at a time is not" I say, laughing despite myself.

"Don't try and change the subject," she says with a scoff. "Something's bothering you."

 _Everything is bothering me._

"We can talk about it later," I tell her, hoping it's enough to convince her for now. "Go eat."

She hesitates for a moment. "We will talk about this," she says, pointing one finger at me accusingly. "Promise?"

I roll my eyes, but still find myself smiling. "Promise, now shoo!"

She turns and walks out of the room, her dark hair sweeping after her as she does. The door clicks shut and I feel myself let out a breath I hadn't realized I'd been holding. I'm not sure why I hadn't wanted to tag along with the others, but something about it didn't feel right.

How do you keep yourself from feeling utterly alone, despite the fact that you're surrounded by people?

My room and the shattered remains of my earlier rage do little to comfort me and so I decide to do some exploring of my own. When I reach the hallway, I find myself walking past the elevator and toward the stairwell. Not wanting to run into the others downstairs, I decide to go up, climbing higher and higher until I finally reach a door. The handle is rusted and it squeaks loudly when I open it. Apparently it doesn't see much use.

The door opens up to the roof of the Duval. The remnants of scattered furniture lay strewn about. Overturned stools and tables seem like a strange thing to keep on the roof. However, the strangest thing I find is a dark haired boy sitting near the edge. I take a tentative step forward, worried that I might startle him into falling to his death.

We are hundreds of feet off the ground, and it feels a little dangerous when I consider the structural integrity of the other buildings in Portum. When I look at the sky though, I see what must have drawn the boy up here. The sun has begun to set, casting beams of orange and pink across a canvas of blue. The boy turns around, and the sunset is no longer the most beautiful thing on the horizon.

It's Christian.

He doesn't look real, not with the way the light contrasts with his inky black hair, and not with the way his blue eyes wash over me. His gaze sends my heart into a frenzy and I can feel my blood thrumming in my veins.

"What are you doing up here?" he demands, his aggressive tone shattering the illusion.

"N - Nothing," I stutter, turning to walk away as quickly as possible without running.

"Lissa," he calls from behind me. "Wait!"

I keep walking, deciding that coming up here had, in fact, been a bad idea. A hand catches my wrist, and I whirl around with every intention of demanding he release me, but instead I find myself unable to speak.

"Sorry," he tells me, even though he appears to be smirking. Something about the curve of his mouth makes me think that smirking comes as easily to him as breathing. "You startled me, not many people come up here."

 _Stop staring at his mouth!_

"It must be because you're so welcoming," I say, finally finding my voice.

"It's all a part of my charm," he says, letting go of my wrist. I try not to think about how cold it feels.

"Charming _and_ modest," I say deadpan.

He shrugs. "What can I say; I'm a full package kind of guy."

His words provide me with an opening, and I decide to press my advantage. "You're missing some pretty key traits," I tell him, hoping I sound as flippant and confident as Rose does when she's trying to work someone over.

"How dare you!" he says mockingly. "Am I not good enough for _Vasilisa Dragomir_?"

I fight the urge to shudder at the way my name sounds on his lips, instead I walk past him toward the edge of the roof. My eyes focus on the sun as it dips below the buildings, but I remain hyperaware of Christian's presence.

"What am I missing?" he asks, walking up to stand beside me.

I don't answer at first, even though I already have my response formulated for that exact question. "Honesty."

"Ahh," he says after a moment. "So that's what this is about. Did Rose send you up here to pester me about the Purge?"

"No," I snap, even though it's partially a lie. "I came up here on my own, but since we're on the subject – "

"I can't tell you," he says, cutting me off.

"Can't," I ask, "Or won't?"

His jaw visibly clenches, as if he were trapping the truth behind his teeth. "Both," he admits.

"Why?" I demand. "Would telling me really be so awful?"

"Telling _you_ would be the worst," he says, raking a hand through his hair.

The sincerity in his voice tears at my resolve. I want to ask him why _me_ , but instead I ask another question. "What are you so worried about? Is it…is it because the Executor is your aunt?"

A cold, humorless laugh escapes his lips. "Something like that."

Continuing to interrogate him feels wrong somehow and so neither of us speaks for a long time, but strangely enough, the silence isn't uncomfortable.

Christian stares at me and then down at his watch. "I should go," he tells me, and he's already turning away. "Duty calls."

"Okay," is the only word I can think of to say.

He nods and I turn my head back toward what remains of the sunset. The familiar dull ache of loneliness returns almost instantly, but it makes me realize that I hadn't felt it when I'd been talking to Christian. Even though he's arrogant, and an investigator and even though he hadn't told me what I had wanted to know, I still find myself wishing he would come back and sit beside me.

 **Just as an FYI, Lissa and Dimitri's relationship is 100% platonic. She's not jealous of Rose, she's just lonely. Also I completed the outline of Haven and it's gonna be a bumpy ride from here on out.**

 **Thank you for reading, and remember to leave a review – they give me life!**


	9. Chapter 9

_**Rose –**_

" _I no doubt deserved my enemies, but I don't believe I deserved my friends."_

 _Walt Whitman_

Portum Lux is a mixture of the old and the new, everywhere the present collides with the past. Windows are blown out and walls stand without roofs, but the insides of them hum with technology. In a way, I feel a little like Portum myself. My skin is battered and bruised, and my scars read like a worn out book – telling the stories of where I've been and what I have sacrificed. But inside my chest, beats the heart of a survivor, someone who has known loss but hasn't let it define them. My existence, like that of the city, is paradoxical – rough on the outside and smooth on the inside.

Here, I don't have to be the girl who grew up in the Academies, I don't have to be a soldier, and I don't have to wear a red belt. I'll always carry the weight of my old life around with me, but now I don't have to be the only one to bear my burdens. I'm learning that trying to take on your problems alone doesn't make you noble or strong; it just makes your life harder. It means trying to undo years of training and things that my instructors tried to engrain into the deepest parts of my subconscious, but I'm getting there.

During my tour of Portum, I had done my best to focus on Dimitri and what this place could mean for the both of us. I'd forced all thoughts of the Purge and the Council to the back of my mind; letting myself pretend, just for a day that I'm a regular girl; just Rose Hathaway - unskilled civilian. I have sworn that Portum Lux will never know the _old_ Rose Hathaway. It should be easy. After all, Christian is the only one here who remembers the person I used to be – and that's because he helped mold me into that person.

At least, I had thought that Christian was the only one.

…

I awake the next morning to a face full of pale blonde hair and an arm that doesn't belong to me stretched across my torso. Lissa had already been asleep when I'd finally returned to our room the night before. After contemplating where I would sleep, I had decided I'd had enough of sleeping on the ground and on couches and climbed onto the mattress next to her.

Lissa had been on the far side of the mattress when I'd fallen asleep, but now the two of us are sharing the same spot in the middle of the bed. I turn my head slowly toward her with every intention of telling her to get off of me, but the contented look on her face makes me think twice. Instead of waking her up, I do my best to untangle our limbs and slip out of the bed. She stirs for a moment, mumbling something about a roof before turning over, one arm dangling over the side. Lying among all the feathers, and with her silvery hair splayed out on the pillow, she almost looks like an angel. Albeit, one who drools and should probably look up the phrase "personal space" in a dictionary.

I tiptoe toward the chest of drawers, eager to finally be rid of my tattered gray dress. I've never given much thought as to what clothing I wore. It was always the same, black jumpsuit, black boots, red belt. I rummage through the drawers until I find something that in no way resembles my uniform, not caring that the white shirt is too big or that the gray linen pants are too small. It feels strange to dress for myself and not for combat. I slip on my boots and decide to sneak out of the room to find Dimitri for an early breakfast, but when I open the door I find that someone is waiting outside of it.

The shock of red hair knocks the air out of my lungs; it feels like the boy leaning against the paneled wall of the hallway has punched me in the gut, but he's just grinning at me. His face is as familiar to me as my own. I had seen his freckles and his goofy smile and heard his laughter every day at the Academy, but what is he doing in Portum Lux? The last time I had seen Mason Ashford, I had been sweet talking him into revealing what Investigators were in the running for the Victor Dashkov investigation.

A scream rises in my throat, but when it passes my lips it sounds more like a strangled gasp than a shriek.

"Is that anyway to greet an old friend?" he asks, a playful smile dancing across his face.

I hear movement behind me, and I realize that my gasp had probably been loud enough to wake Lissa. After a quick glance over my shoulder, I move to join him in the hallway.

"Sorry," I whisper, closing the door gently behind me. "I just wasn't expecting…"

My voice trails off. Wasn't expecting what? To come face to face with my past? To talk one on one with a ghost? When I had left the Academy to find Victor, I had convinced myself that it would be for good, that I would leave behind my instructors, my classmates, and my partner. I hadn't been prepared to find Christian Ozera sitting behind the marble table of the council chambers, and I certainly hadn't expected to find Mason waiting for me outside of my bedroom.

"I'm kidding," he says, waving a hand at me. "Christian warned that you would probably freak out when you saw me."

I try to laugh, but the sound is hollow. "In his defense, I did pass out when I saw him."

Mason's own laughter is full and rich. "I heard about that. You must not be that surprised to see me if you're still standing."

"What are you doing here?" I ask, too curious to continue bothering with pleasantries.

He shuffles his feet nervously for a moment, shifting his weight from side to side. It reminds me of the timid boy he had been when they had first brought him to the Academy.

Mason hadn't been raised by the military; instead he had spent most of his childhood growing up in the Provinces and was recruited by an RPD agent when he was 13. Mason had been so unlike the others, having spent the majority of his life outside the walls of the Academy. Once he had recovered from the initial shock of military life, he quickly became one of the most promising RPD candidates. He was charming and charismatic, something about his appearance was disarming and our instructors found that most people trusted him without having any reason to: a trait that was invaluable when it came to our profession.

"Someone needs to escort you to your appointment with Sage, and I volunteered."

"That's not what I meant," I tell him pointedly. "What are you doing in Portum?"

He lets out a sigh, "Are you ready to go?" he asks, ignoring my question.

I glance down at my clothes and then back at Mason. "Ready, as I'll ever be," I say with a shrug. "But I'm not going anywhere until you tell me what you're doing here."

"You haven't changed a bit," he says, his grin returning.

Something within me bends, nearly snapping. I fight the urge to scream at Mason, to tell him that I _have_ changed. A part of me insists that I should be thrilled to see a familiar face, especially when the people of Portum have been anything but welcoming. But I have learned too much, been betrayed too many times by the institution that raised me to not look at Mason without skepticism and weariness.

"Come on," he says, gesturing for me to follow him. "We can talk on the way."

I put one foot in front of the other, telling myself that Mason would never hurt me. Mason has always had a soft spot for me, something I had never let myself dwell on before. Relationships were as foreign a concept to me then as they are now.

"So," I say, trying to sound casual. "What are you doing here?" I ask for a third time.

Mason reaches forward and presses the button to call the elevator. "Looking for you of course."

"Mason," I say, and his name feels achingly familiar. "I don't mean what are you doing in the hallway, I mean what are you doing in Portum?"

He looks over at me, his expression strangely calm. "Looking for you."

My insides tighten, and I step into the elevator without meeting his gaze. "Why?" I ask, keeping my eyes trained on the elevator doors as they slide together.

Mason stands next to me, his hands shoved into his pockets. "I was still working in the administrative offices after you left for your last assignment," he tells me, and the elevator begins to move downward. "I was the first person in our Academy to see the warrant with your name on it." Mason's voice sounds far away as he continues with the rest of his story. "I couldn't believe what I was reading; the RPD's golden girl had broken into the Lonestar Facility, absconded with intelligence _and_ a prisoner, and managed to do it without any inside help and in less than 24 hours."

If I didn't know any better, I would say that Mason sounded slightly impressed.

"But that wasn't even the worst part," he continues. "There was a memo attached to the warrant."

I swallow down the lump that has begun forming in my throat, and I force myself to look at him when I ask, "What did it say?"

"That you were to be taken alive," he says flatly.

Mason doesn't need to elaborate. The Risk Prevention Department has no qualms with killing, they don't feel guilt or remorse, and a person is only as valuable as their secrets. If the RPD had ordered me to be taken alive, it was because they want something from me. I am all too familiar with the lengths to which they would go to get it.

The doors to the elevator part just then, saving either of us from having to respond. We walk out of the Duval and onto the street, greeted by a pale gray morning and stray gusts of bitter wind. I shiver slightly, but I'm not sure if it's from the cold, or because of what Mason had told me in the elevator.

"Then what happened?" I ask, realizing that finding my warrant doesn't explain how Mason ended up in Portum.

The streets are mostly empty, save for a few people who are making their way toward the Duval for breakfast.

"I figured you had gotten yourself mixed up with one of the underground movements," he says, leading me in the direction of the capitol building.

"What do you mean?" I ask, frowning in confusion. "I'm not a part of any movement."

Mason peers at me, looking surprised. "You mean you broke into the Lonestar for shits and giggles?"

"It wasn't for shits and giggles," I snap. "But it wasn't because I'm a part of some underground rebellion either."

"I see," he muses. "Well that would explain why when I contacted Christian about the warrant and the break-in, he had no idea what I was talking about."

I have to blink to keep my eyes from bugging out of my head. "What? Why…how would you contact Christian?"

"Well he and I _are_ a part of an underground movement. We have ways of talking to each other."

My feet stop moving and I come to a halt. "How long?" I demand.

"How long, what?" he asks, whirling around to face me.

"How long has all of this been going on?" I ask, waving my arms all around me, gesturing toward the city and to him. "How long have you and Christian been working together and how deep does this little movement go?"

"Not long," he says with a casual shrug. "And it's not little. Christian has connections in practically every branch of the military. Think about it, Rose, do you really think the unrest felt by the people in the provinces is felt _exclusively_ by them? People are angry, Rose, even the soldiers."

Christian had mentioned that military defectors made up a large portion of Portum's population, but I had never imagined that there would be defectors still _living_ within the academies and the bases. That there would be soldiers willing to risk their lives for Portum's cause.

"Come on," says Mason, turning away from me. "You can't be late, Sage will kill me."

"Then what happened?" I ask, trotting to catch up with him.

"I was worried about you." His voice is light and carefree, but there is still a weight that punctuates each of his words. "Christian said he would look into what happened at the facility and let me know if anything came up. He didn't have to look very hard though, you showed up at his doorstep a week later."

We round the corner of one of the streets and cut through an alley that leads to a back door. The brick building seems to have sustained the least amount of damage of anything I have seen so far. Mason leads me through the door and I am instantly blinded by what I see; bright lights, white walls and white floors, everything smelling of cleaning products and cotton.

"When did you get here then?" I ask.

"Late last night," he says, walking down the hall and up a set of stairs. "I would have been here sooner, but getting out wasn't as easy as I thought it would be."

"Did you have to break out of the Academy?" I ask, not bothering to quell the alarm in my voice.

"Don't worry," says Mason, throwing a grin over his shoulder. "I had help."

"There are others? Who?"

Something flashes in Mason's blue eyes. "I can't really tell you that."

I reach out and grab his arm. "Are you being serious right now, Mase? You know you can trust me."

That hadn't been fair to him, asking him to trust me when I'm still not sure if I can trust him. The use of his old nickname stirs something within him though because he does seem to genuinely want to tell me.

"One name," he tells me in a mockingly stern voice. "That's all you get."

"Fine," I say, flashing him a smile of my own.

"Eddie."

My heart lodges itself in my throat.

"Eddie?" I croak.

Eddie was the first friend I ever made at the Academy. I've known him longer than any other person I can remember. Any memory I can recall from my childhood involves him. We had trained together, graduated together, and had joined the RPD together. If ever I was to trust a person from the Academy, it would have been my partner, but I hadn't.

I had made sure that when I left on the Dashkov investigation, it was without him. I had left him behind because I didn't think I could tell him the truth. But now it seems he had also been keeping secrets of his own.

"Rose, I promise we can talk more about this later, but Sage does not like to be kept waiting."

I nod solemnly and allow Mason to lead me up a few more flights of stairs and then into a sterile looking examination room. My eyes dart around, looking for the infamous Sage I've heard so much about, but the only other person in the room is a girl with golden blonde hair. She sits behind a desk, her eyes glued to the monitor that sits in front of her. She looks to be about my age, maybe a little younger.

Mason retreats to the far side of the room before waving goodbye and closing the door behind him, leaving me alone with the girl.

I take a tentative step toward her. "Uh hi," I say, unsure of what to do next. "I'm here to see Dr. Sage. Can you let her know I'm here?"

The girl snorts, and finally looks up from the monitor. Her eyes are a darker shade of gold than her hair, and they glint with amusement. "Sure," she says, her voice dripping with a bitter sweetness.

"Thanks?" I say, trying not to sound annoyed or confused.

She rises from her seat and steps toward me, "Sit," she says, pointing to a padded examination table on the other side of the room.

I do as she says, staring at her defiantly as I sit down.

"Remove your shirt, please," she tells me as she rubs some kind of sanitizer on her hands.

My injury makes taking my clothes off more difficult than putting them on, but I refuse to let her, or anyone else for that matter, see me struggle and so I manage to get it off while muttering only minor curses. I position myself so that my back is facing the girl but I make sure to never take my eyes off of her completely. She approaches me, leaning down to inspect the stitches.

"Aren't you going to go get the physician?" I ask, not turning around.

She lets out an exasperated sigh. "I _am_ the physician. Sydney Sage, at your service."

I want to smack myself in the forehead, but instead, all I can say is. "Oh, sorry."

"It's fine," she says, gently prodding the skin of my back. "You're not the first person to make that mistake, and you won't be the last."

"It's just," I say, "Well, you're so young."

Over my shoulder, I can see the corners of her mouth twitch upward into a half-smile. "You're one to talk," her voice softens as her eyes take in the evidence of past injuries. I try not to imagine what my back must look like at this point; raised scars stretching out in all directions like the web of a spider. "Only 18 and already…" her voice trails off.

She doesn't need to finish. _Only 18 and already you bare the marks of someone who has lived three lifetimes._

"Tell me what happened," says Sydney, her voice and posture stiffening. "Don't leave anything out."

I pivot on the table so that I'm facing her. I suck in a deep breath, gathering my resolve and all of the splintered memories and fragmented details that led to this moment. Sydney listens without interrupting and without reacting. She merely takes notes and nods every few minutes.

"It's a miracle you didn't die of infection," she huffs as soon as I finish explaining what happened. "I'll need to take some blood samples to be sure, but it looks like your friend did a decent job."

"Lissa saved my life," I say, more defensively than I had intended to.

Sydney arches an eyebrow but doesn't acknowledge my outburst. Instead she asks, "Have you felt any numbness or tingling in your right arm?"

"Yes," I admit.

"How often?"

"It's a personality trait at this point," I tell her sarcastically.

She frowns. "How often?"

"Frequently."

"Have you ever had an electromyogram before?"

 _Nope, just electroshock therapy._

But I don't tell Sydney that, I just shake my head.

"It's a test that measures the electrical activities of your muscles. If I'm right, and I usually am, the knife damaged your rotator tendon. There also appears to be a significant amount of nerve damage." Her tone is unfeeling, her demeanor cold and calculating.

"Sounds fun," I say, completely deadpan.

It wasn't fun.

While an EMG isn't meant to be painful, it still involves a lot of needles and electrical currents. My muscles burn the way they had during my interrogations with Christian.

The experiences are too similar, and I feel the memories of that torture trying to surface with each passing moment. I grit my teeth throughout the entire test, doing my best to smother the dark feelings that creep over me.

"You can put your shirt back on," Sydney says when the test finally ends.

She moves to stand behind her desk, her golden eyes fixed on the monitor once more. My entire body shakes as I try to slide one arm and then the other into the sleeves of the shirt. I'm grateful that her attention is on anything but me.

Once I manage to get the shirt back on I sit down and stare at Sydney, trying to gauge her expression, but her features remain unreadable. She frowns suddenly, her eyes narrowing at something I can't see. Had I somehow failed the test?

"What is it?" I ask, a slight edge to my question.

She jumps as if she had forgotten I'm still in the room. "Nothing," she says quickly.

A loud ringing sound splits the air, and this time we both jump. Sydney reaches for the com device on her desk and holds it up to her ear. It's the same one that Tatiana had used to talk to Sage when I'd been in her office.

"This is Sage," she says in a monotone voice.

"Is it done?" a voice that could only be Tatiana's asks curtly.

"Yes ma'am. I'm going over the results as we speak."

"And?" Tatiana's voice is as cool and expectant as ever.

Sydney hesitates, her eyes flicking between the screen and me.

"Sage," Tatiana says. "What's her prognosis?"

"She should make a full recovery," Sydney finally says.

My heart feels like it might explode. I hadn't let myself worry about my injury, I hadn't let myself hope. I had convinced myself that hoping for my body to return to the way it had been would be pointless, and I hadn't known until this moment how badly I wanted just that.

"How long until you can clear her for combat?" crackles Tatiana's voice over the speaker.

Again, Sydney hesitates before speaking. "I'm not sure, I still need to rule out infection and remove the stitches."

"Get it done," orders Tatiana, "and let me know."

The line goes dead.

"I'm okay," I breathe.

Sydney begins rifling through the draws of her desk, and I hardly notice when she moves over to where I sit and ties a rubber cord around my forearm. I'm too excited, and I feel the memories I had been trying to suppress during the EMG melt away. She pricks my arm, but I'm too busy thinking about telling Dimitri the good news.

I know he still feels guilty for what happened. It's written all over his face whenever he catches sight of my limp arm, but now he doesn't have to. We can finally forget that awful night on the train.

Sydney pulls out a handful of test tubes and sets herself to work, taking samples of my blood.

"So," I say, feeling more talkative now that the test is over. "How long have you been in Portum?"

She doesn't look up from her work. "A little less than a year."

"Is it just you?"

Sydney shakes her head. "My father is on the council."

"Ah," I say after a moment. "I see."

An awkward silence falls over the room, and after a few more minutes she pulls the needle out of my arm. Blood begins to well in the crook of my arm and she covers it with a clean piece of cotton and wraps it up with a bandage.

"Thanks," I say, rubbing the spot on my arm. "Is that everything?"

Sydney looks at me, a strange uneasiness reflected in her eyes. "Come back in two days," she says firmly. "I'll have the results of your blood test by then, and I can pull out the stitches."

"Sounds good," I say, hopping off the table, feeling infinitely lighter than I had in days.

A hand darts out and grabs my wrist before I can walk out of the room. "Rose," she says. "Take it easy."

I stare back at her in confusion. "Okay?"

She furrows her brows in frustration, as if searching for an explanation or the right words to tell me something important.

"Sydney," I say slowly. "What aren't you telling me?"

She stands perfectly still, too still and her breathing is shallower than it had been a moment ago.

"Nothing," she says brightly, smiling for the first time since I'd entered the examination room. "You're just…you're still recovering. Take it easy."

She ushers me out of the room before I can ask any more questions. I find myself standing in the middle of the blindingly white hallway once more, unsure of what to do or where to go. I walk in the direction that Mason and I had come from, replaying my conversation with Sydney. She's hiding something, her posture and breathing had been a dead giveaway. But what could she be hiding from me?

A great many things, I realize.

I shake my head and force a smile even though no one is around to see me. Whatever Sydney is hiding, it's her business. I have enough to deal with as it is, and so I fold up the conversation like you would an old letter, and tuck it back into the far reaches of my mind.

 **I'm glad you guys liked the last update! I am a huge fan of Lissa and Christian's relationship. Christian is actually my favorite character, besides Rose of course. Do you guys have a favorite? Also I have been waiting to bring Mason into the story for what feels like forever, what do you guys think of him so far?**


	10. Chapter 10

_**Vasilisa –**_

" _There are some ideas so wrong that only a very intelligent person could believe in them."_

 _George Orwell_

I awake to the sound of the door slamming, and the noise nearly causes me to roll off of the bed. After a quick look around the room, I realize that Rose must have left. I rub the sleep from my eyes, wandering where she could have gone.

The sheet of metal covering the window keeps me from being aware of what time of day it is; it could be twilight for all I know. Our suite is still a mess, but I don't care enough to clean up the destruction I had created after I had first arrived in Portum. Instead, I pull on my boots and slip out of the room.

I am greeted by a pale morning sun, one that provides little warmth. I find myself wondering the streets with no particular destination in mind. I pass a few people on my journey to nowhere, but one person in particular draws my gaze.

It's a child. She seems impossibly small; tiny hands, tiny features, even her laugh is startlingly diminutive. How large must the world appear to someone so small? I find that I want to run to her, to sweep her into my arms in an attempt to shield her from this life of intolerance. She deserves better that NAAMA, better than Portum, better than this world.

The girl turns and smiles at someone, and her smile is like a miracle painted upon a dreary canvas. She starts skipping down the sidewalk, skirting piles of rubble until she reaches a man. He kneels in the shade of a building, a smile on his face and his arms outstretched toward her. She throws himself into his embrace and he lifts her into the air, shrieking and giggling in delight.

It's the first real sign of humanity I have seen since arriving here, and I can't bare the sight of it.

I turn away, something like jealousy and grief roiling in my gut. It reminds me too much of Victor. The image of him floats on the outskirts of my mind, an incessant reminder that the more you love someone, the more power you give them – the more it hurts when they betray you. It's like a sliding scale of love and torment except I'm not measuring anything tangible, just the misery that lays coiled in my own heart.

My fists are clenched at my sides and my eyes dart down the streets, searching for an escape. I settle for a fire escape that barely clings to the side of a tall building. I drape my body on the rusted ladder, arms hanging over the bars and my chin resting on the top rung.

My chest is heaving with every breath, and the air feels more like fire as I pull it into my lungs. I hate Victor; because of him I can't even look at something as innocent as a girl hugging her father without feeling like someone is ripping me apart at the seams.

A hand on my shoulder pulls me from my thoughts and I whirl around faster than I thought possible. I let out a small scream at the sight of Christian Ozera, his blue eyes hard and his face contemplative.

He cringes slightly. "What was that for?"

"You scared me!" I snap, smacking his arm. "What do you want?"

He narrows his eyes, appearing to debate whether or not he's going to tell me now that I've assaulted him. "What are you doing in this alley?" he asks, sounding genuinely curious.

"None of your business," I tell him stiffly. "Now what do you want?"

"I just thought you'd like to know how Rose's appointment with the physician went," he tells me, sounding as smug as ever.

I smack him again. "Of course I want to know how it went!"

To be honest, I hadn't even known that Rose had gone to see a physician, but I suppose it makes sense that an examination would be a stipulation of any agreement she had made with Tatiana. It would also explain why she had left our room at the crack of dawn this morning.

Christian's expression is caught between a scowl and smile as he rubs the spot on his arm where I had hit him. "Now I don't think I want to tell you," he tells me, sounding devastatingly wounded.

"Fine," I huff, starting to walk away. "I'll just ask her myself."

Christian's eyes widen minutely and he reaches out to grab my wrist, holding me back. "Wait."

A part of me is screaming to pull away, to wrench my arm free of his grasp, but I don't. I remain rooted to the spot, and for an instant I can't remember why I had wanted to leave in the first place. Christian's grasp feels like a bracelet of electricity and it's like a wave of energy passing through me and frying my senses.

"I spoke with Tatiana," he says, and the mention of her breaks the spell.

"And?" I demand, finally drawing away from him. "What did she say? How is Rose?"

"Rose has been cleared for combat, she'll start training with the ad Salvum soon."

His face is a mask of chiseled indifference, his tone completely devoid of feeling. I search his eyes for a trace of emotion – this is what he had wanted, what he had been campaigning for. Shouldn't he be more relieved?

"That's a good thing, right?" My words are laced with hesitation. "It means she's expected to recover."

Christian's impossibly blue eyes darken. "According to Tatiana."

The way he says her name is unnerving, each syllable drips with something I can't quite discern; like there's something more to what he's saying.

"What about according to the physician, what was her name? Sage?"

"Sydney Sage." He glances over each of us shoulders before returning his gaze to me. "She lied," he says in a low voice. "To Tatiana."

Christian might as well have sucker punched me in the gut. What had she lied about? Why had she felt the need to lie in the first place?

"Why would she do that?"

He rakes a hand through his hair, dislodging a few dark strands. "Not everyone here supports the council. There are those who believe that intelligence and strength manifest themselves differently in different people."

"And Sydney is one those people?"

Christian nods. "She wanted to give Rose a real chance at a future here."

"Does Rose know?" I ask, trying not to chew on my bottom lip.

"No," he admits. "Sydney didn't tell her, Tatiana kind of put her on the spot."

I grip my head between my hands in an attempt to keep it from splitting apart. "Why would she keep something like that from Rose?"

Sydney is a stranger. She doesn't understand how much Rose values her strength, what a false diagnosis would do to her.

"Because I asked her to." Christian struggles to find the right words. "To keep her safe," he says finally.

"Which one?" I ask bitterly. "Sydney, or Rose."

"Rose," he says quietly. "She's a walking open wound, it's written all over her face…she isn't the same because of what happened. If she knew the truth, she would act accordingly. Tatiana is already suspicious, already looking for a reason to send Rose packing. One wrong move, one wrong word or expression could be the difference for Rose."

"So she can't know." I'm not sure if I had meant to ask my words in the form of a question, and my voice doesn't sound like my own.

Christian nods, and a flicker of pity flashes behind his carefully constructed mask.

"But she's going to start training with the guard…if her injury is permanent, training could make it worse." Pieces start to come together as I consider the impact of Sydney's lie. "She could hurt herself. Christian, you have to help her."

Christian shakes his head, slow and deliberate. "I don't know how, that's why I came to you."

"Train her yourself." I had meant my words as a suggestion but they come out desperate and forceful. "You have to."

Christian frowns. "I don't train with the ad Salvum any more, the council is going to hand the position over to a new guy…" His voice trails off, and his eyes widen as if he had finally found the answer to all of his problems. "That's it."

"What's it?" I demand.

"Mason Ashford," says Christian, sounding almost excited. "He's the new captain. He went to the Academy with Rose, we can trust him."

My expression darkens. I still have trouble accepting that not everyone within the military is a monster. "So everyone but Rose will know the truth?"

"It's for her own good."

"I still don't like it."

Christian eyes me meaningfully. "You don't have to like it."

"Fine." I turn on my heel and begin walking away; away from the alley and away from Christian.

The sound of footsteps tells me that he has followed me.

"Is there something else I can help you with?" I ask, my words filled with a forced sweetness.

"There is actually," he says, shoving his hands into his pockets. "You have to take _your_ test today too."

I keep walking, willing myself not to betray any emotion. "Lovely."

"But first," he says reaching out once more to take my hand. "I want to show you something."

I try not to concentrate on the way his hand feels as he leads me down a series of narrow streets and then up a slight hill. He finally releases me when we reach an open field, surrounded by scorched brick buildings. At the end of the stretch of grass are the remains of what looks to have been a particularly large structure. Now, the only thing that remains are blown out windows and crumbling walls.

"What are we doing here?" I ask, scanning the rubble. "Did you bring me out here to murder me?"

He laughs softly, but doesn't answer. Instead he kicks at the ground until he hits something solid, the sound reverberating and bouncing off of what remains of the walls. He bends down and pulls open what looks to be a trap door. I take a few steps forward until I'm close enough to peer down at whatever Christian wants to show me: it's a staircase.

"Ladies first," he tells me with a wicked grin.

I stagger back. "No way."

It's pitch black down there and I feel my pulse quicken, my heart fluttering beneath my ribs like a caged bird.

"Please," he says, and the request sounds strangely foreign on his lips.

I force myself to put one foot in front of the other, and follow him down the steps. Before we become completely immersed in the darkness, he pulls out a lantern – exactly like the one Rose had given me.

The light casts strange shadows along the walls and across the steps. We haven't ascended too far beneath the Earth's surface when Christian comes to abrupt halt in front of me. He holds up the lantern so that the rest of the room is illuminated. I gasp at the sight of it all.

The stairs open up into a wide room filled with books.

 _Books_.

There are books everywhere, lining the slanted shelves and littered across the dusty floor – more books than I have ever seen in my entire life – more than I had ever dreamed existed. When Victor and I had escaped to the Midwestern Province, it had been with nothing but the clothes on our backs. We'd been forced to leave everything behind, and so the only books I've ever known are the ones that Victor had written himself on scraps of paper, bound with string and staples.

I take a tentative step forward, dust rising around my boot in tiny puffs as I do.

"How?" I croak. "How is this possible?"

Books aren't supposed to exist, not any more, not in NAAMA. Executor Ozera had started off small, banning only certain kinds of books; books about science and a few particularly damning history books. It had escalated quickly from there; soon the citizens were instructed to turn over anything written before the Pulse.

Then the libraries were burned.

The schools were bombed out of existence.

The written word wiped away from the world; a blank slate for a blank society.

"This is Florida," says Christian, as if that should be enough of an explanation. "The water table and the topography here don't make digging underground easy. Most buildings don't have basements, but this particular library did."

"She didn't know," I breathe. "When she had it destroyed, she didn't know this level even existed."

"Exactly," he turns to offer me a knowing smirk, but I can't focus on anything but the books.

I wander over to the nearest shelf, one hand outstretched to stroke the spines. I pull one of the books off of the shelf. The volume is made of leather and even though it's cracked and the words are worn, it's still one of the most beautiful things I've ever seen. It's strange to think about how books are just different arrangements of the same 26 letters, in the same way that our bodies are just different arrangements of the same 11 elements. We are all made up of pieces, and like pieces, we are all apart of something bigger than ourselves.

But I don't want to be the sum of my parts. I want to be more than the atoms that comprise the cells that make up the bones that hold up my body, in the same way that books are more than just the ink and the pressed pages and the letters.

I hear a soft chuckle and realize that Christian is now standing less than a foot away from me.

"What's so funny?" I demand.

He shrugs casually. "Your face."

I feel heat rising up the back of my neck, threatening to creep its way onto my face and color my cheeks. "What's wrong with my face?" Even as I ask the question, I feel myself turn away.

"You're smiling," he says. "It's adorable."

The heat might consume me.

"I knew you would like it here," he continues. "You look like the book sort."

"Oh yeah?" I ask. "And what exactly does the book sort look like?"

He furrows his brow, pretending to consider my words. "It's not anything physical," he says, sounding surprisingly serious. "I can just tell."

"Right," I say, widening my eyes in mock disbelief. "I forgot you're all knowing."

He scoffs and takes a step toward me. "How could you forget?"

He's close, so close that I can feel the warmth radiating from him. Christian is everything fiery and fierce, burning with the heat and intensity of a dying star. I look closer at his eyes and the curve of his jaw and the fine lines of his face and the softness of his lips. I want to reach out and touch him, but keep my fingers curled around the book for fear of being burned.

He seems to be regarding me with the same deep concentration. I can't help but wonder what he sees when he looks at me, surely there is none of the devastating beauty that I see whenever I look at him.

"Lissa," he says, a hand waving in front of my face. "Anyone home?"

Apparently this is not the first time Christian had tried to get my attention.

"S-Sorry. Were you saying something?" I stammer.

A slow, knowing smile starts to spread across his face, his mouth curving upward and his tongue running across his teeth. I'm not sure what I want to do more; kiss his stupid, annoyingly arrogant face, or punch him in it.

He leans down slightly and I force myself to remain perfectly still despite the fact that I'm almost positive that if I were to look down, I would see my heart lying at his feet.

He's closer now.

Impossibly, achingly, tormentingly close.

The alarm on his watch beeps and he reels backward into one of the shelves. My cheeks burn with embarrassment and I shove the book back into its place.

I hear him curse. "You're going to be late."

…

Christian leaves me outside of what looks and feels like a classroom. It reminds me of the long years I had spent at the provincial schools back at my compound, complete with wooden desks and a scornful looking instructor. I find that Dimitri and Adrian have already arrived and I end up sitting in front of Adrian, who feels the need to yank on my ponytail in the same way he had when we were children. Dimitri sits next to me, looking as serious as he had the first day I had met him. Everything about the situation is familiar and foreign to me all at the same time.

A man sits behind a heavy oak desk at the front of the room, shuffling a pile of papers and glaring at the three of us every few minutes or so.

"Where have you been?" Dimitri asks, turning in the tiny chair to face me.

The sight of him folded up behind the desk is almost amusing and I cannot even begin to imagine how he had managed to get his massive frame into the seat.

"I was just…" I try not to fumble too much with my response. "Ya know, walking around."

 _Smooth, Lissa. Real smooth._

Adrian yanks down on my ponytail for what feels like the millionth time. "You're not fooling anyone. I saw you with the Ozera kid," Adrian speaks with his usual lazy contempt, not sounding as if he cares very much about what he's saying.

I slide down in my seat, careful to avoid Dimitri's gaze. "He was just escorting me to the test, that's all."

The man at the front of the room rises from his seat just then, taking special care to make as much noise as possible as he does. He clears his throat and the three of us turn to face him.

"My name is Jared Sage, and I will be your test proctor," he says, his brown eyes passing over the three of us with cold consideration. "You will have one hour to complete the test."

He hands a stack of papers to Dimitri, and two sets to me. I reach around to hand a set to Adrian and he lets out a sigh of boredom before taking them from me.

"What if I have to go to the bathroom?" Adrian asks.

Jared Sage's expression is thunderous. "Hold it."

He scoffs. "But I had like, four cups of coffee this morning."

The proctor chooses not to dignify Arian's comment with a response. "Begin."

The scholar in me can't help but flip through the papers with interest. I see everything from reading passages, to essay questions, to mathematical equations. I reach for the pencil that sits at the edge of the desk and set to work.

The test is broken up into sections, and I find that know the answer to almost every question. A part of me silently thanks Victor for teaching me so well, another part curses him. Nothing feels out of place until I get to the final page of the exam and find that there is nothing on it except for the outline of a square. The directions tell me to put anything I want in the square – a drawing, a poem, anything that I feel represents a part of my intelligence that has not been tested up until this point. I feel myself starting to panic, they want me to be creative.

Instead of sketching a brilliant representation of my imagination or writing an expressive short story, I draw the outlines of the period table. Victor had drilled the elements into my mind when I was 11. It's not creative, but I hope that whoever grades my test will at least be slightly impressed.

I hear the sound of paper tearing from behind me and I fight the urge to roll my eyes. That sound can only mean that Adrian is up to no good. I glance over at Dimitri and see that he has already finished with the test. His hands rest in his lap and there is an uncharacteristically bored expression on his face.

"Time's up," comes the stern voice of Jared Sage.

He gathers our materials and ushers us out of the room without another word.

"Wasn't he delightful?" gushes Adrian as soon as the classroom door shuts behind us.

Dimitri shakes his head and leads us out of the building and onto the sprawling lawn that Christian had led me through earlier.

"Adrian," I say, slowing down my pace to match his lazy march. "What did you do to your test?"

"Ah," he says, flashing me one of his boyish grins. He reaches into his pocket and then withdraws a crumpled piece of paper. "I thought that last bit was ridiculous, so I tore out the square and left a ransom note at the top of the paper."

Dimitri smacks himself in the forehead with the palm of his hand, muttering something in Russian before asking, "You did what?"

"I told them if they ever wanted to see their precious square again, they had to give me a perfect score."

Dimitri bites down on his lip, and for a moment he looks like he might explode, but when he opens his mouth it isn't to yell - it's too laugh. His laughter is infectious and soon the three of us are all doubled over, wishing we could see the look on Jared Sage's face when he saw what Adrian had done.

It feels like we're back at the compound again, too young and too naïve to care about the world beyond the stone walls. That feeling is short lived though, and reality creeps back in as we make our way into the dining hall of the Duval. Dimitri scans the crowd and I don't need to ask who he's looking for.

He weaves in and out of the tables with Adrian and me in tow until he reaches a table at the back of the room. Rose is sitting beside a boy, his hair the color of a sunset with freckles dancing across his nose. Christian sits across from them, his blue eyes ablaze with amusement. They all look strangely comfortable with each other, and it unsettles me for a reason I can't quite discern.

"Hey!" says Rose, leaping up from the table when she notices Dimitri and the rest of us.

Her eyes are bright, her face is slightly flushed – and she's smiling. She looks more alive than I have seen her look in weeks, so completely content with the world. My stomach begins tying itself in knots when I realize why she's smiling.

 _She doesn't know Sydney lied._

 _She thinks she's fine._

"Did you hear the good news?" she asks, gesturing for the three of us to join her.

I sit down next to Christian, and I feel him kick me under the table and I try not to glare at him. Dimitri sits on the other side of Rose, and I notice that he hasn't taken his eyes off of her since we'd walked into the room.

"What is it?" Dimitri asks.

"I had an EMG done this morning and I'm expected to make a full recovery," she declares triumphantly. "I get to start training with the guard soon."

A look of pure relief washes over Dimitri and he leans forward to press a kiss to her forehead in a rare showing of public affection. "That's wonderful."

He pulls away to study her, not seeming to care that there are other people in the room. Dimitri stares at her like he's seeing color for the first time.

Christian squeezes my knee under the table and I nearly leap out of my skin. I'm not sure if the gesture is meant to comfort me, or to remind me to keep my mouth shut.

Adrian clears his throat loudly. "Glad to hear you'll be back to your old, ass-kicking self again."

"Yours is first on my list," she tells him, breaking away from her staring contest with Dimitri to smile menacingly at Adrian.

"What did you do to get on her bad side?" asks the boy with the red hair, smiling good-naturedly.

"I turned her down," says Adrian, shrugging casually.

Rose rolls her eyes, "This is Mason, by the way. We…we went to school together."

 _Mason._

 _The new captain of the guard._

"That," says Rose, pointing accusingly in Adrian's direction. "Is the one I was telling you about."

"All good things I hope," Adrian drawls, staring at his cuticles.

Mason chuckles and then looks at Rose. "He's not nearly as pretty as you said he was."

Adrian looks appalled. "Lies," he seethes.

Adrian and Rose continue trading insults, and I use it as an opportunity to lean in to Christian. "Is that him?" I breathe. "The captain?"

Christian nods, but doesn't look away from the spectacle that Adrian has created.

"What are you two over there whispering about?" asks Rose.

I feel my entire body go rigid, but Christian doesn't miss a beat. "I was telling Lissa about the time you threw a book at Stan Alto's head and called him a fascist bastard."

Rose looks horrified for a moment, but her expression quickly turns into a scowl.

"Is it story time?" asks Adrian, sounding excited for the first time all day. "I bet you two have loads of dirt on Rose."

Mason's face lights up. "Did she tell you about the time she scaled the administrative building in her underwear?"

Adrian leans in. "Go on."

"It was the night before graduation," says Christian. "It was a part of her RPD initiation.

Everyone at the table stares at him with interest, but when I look over at Rose I see that she has gone white as a sheet. Her glow from earlier has been completely extinguished, but no one else seems to notice. They're too busy listening to Christian tell his story.

She stands up suddenly. "I have to go," she whispers.

Before any of us can react, she bolts away from the table. Dimitri isn't far behind her though, and the two of them disappear into the lobby, the door to the dining hall swinging shut behind them.

 **So on my other fic, a few of you asked about my future projects. I'm not sure when I'll get the chance to update that story, so I figured I would answer some of your questions now. The outline for** _ **Haven**_ **is done; it's just a matter of expanding on that so you will definitely get to see the end of this story.**

 **The outline for** _ **To Forgive and Forget**_ **is under construction but my goal is to have that one finished before I start on** _ **Awake**_ **(which is the conclusion to Pulse).**

 **And because I'm, ya know, a psycho – there is another project in the works. It's going to be magical and I could not be more excited because it's a collaboration with Gigi256, who I absolutely adore. She's the reason I started writing and I'm pretty much just a crazed fangirl and this project is an actual dream come true.**

 **So there it is folks! I hope you enjoyed this update and that you're as excited as I am for what the future may bring!**


	11. Chapter 11

_**Rose –**_

" _Have a heart that never hardens, and a temper that never tires, and a touch that never hurts._ _"_

 _Charles Dickens_

"It was a part of her RPD initiation," Christian says casually.

Everyone leans in to hear the story as it unfolds. Adrian's face is bright with curiosity and his chin is propped on his hands as he gazes toward Christian intently. There is a knowing glint in Mason's eyes; he's probably heard this story so many times he could tell it just as well as I could. Everyone at the Academy knows this story – of how Rose Hathaway had scaled the administration building in nothing but her pajamas, of how the girl with the fiery disposition had swung from flagpole to window ledge and up three stories, all so that she could retrieve the blood red flag that represented the same agency that would spend the next year stripping away what remained of her humanity, only to reform her into something harder, colder, deadlier.

But the whispers don't do that night justice.

They fail to account for what had really happened that night, the night I had discovered who my parents were, who they had been and how they had died. It was the night everything had changed. The decisions I had made then had led me here, to Lissa and Dimitri, to Portum Lux, to a life I had never dreamed would be mine.

A wave of guilt washes over me when I realize how long it's been since I last thought about them. I have completely lost sight of why I had set out to find Victor in the first place. I have let them down, let my life become as twisted as the knots that have formed in my gut. I can feel the color drain from my face. The warmth that had spread in my chest from when Dimitri had pressed his lips to my forehead only moments earlier dissipates, leaving me feeling cold and empty.

"I have to go," I whisper, and I'm not sure if anyone even notices as I rise from the table and rush out of the room.

I know he's following me, even though I am barely aware of my surroundings – of the murmured conversations, the clatter of forks against plates, the expressionless faces that swim around me in a pale sea – it has all been forced into nothingness – everything except the sound of Dimitri's boots hitting the stone floor as he follows me out of the dining hall.

I don't turn around, even as I find myself striding into the lobby on shaking legs. He's closer now, so close that I can hear his steady heartbeat. There could be a full blown symphony playing in the lobby, their notes crashing into one another, the melody reverberating off of the marble floors, and I would still be able to pick out the sound of his heartbeat. My own heartbeat stutters in my chest like a failing engine.

I reach out a trembling hand and jam down the button to call the elevator again and again. My eyes are open, but instead of seeing the lobby, the copy of my file floats in and out of my field of vision, the words _presumed dead_ cutting into me like a million tiny cuts soaked in vinegar.

"Roza," I hear him say, the tone of his voice is gentle and curls around me like an embrace, but I still can't make myself turn and face him.

I feel a hand come to rest on my shoulder, just as the metal doors slide apart. Dimitri's touch is light, but the feel of his fingers on my body burns like the embers of a fire, burns like the tears that sting the backs of my eyes. I slip into the elevator as soon as the gap becomes wide enough, one part of me hoping that Dimitri doesn't follow, the other silently begging him to do just that.

I slam down one of the numbered buttons, not paying very much attention to which one and then retreat into the far corner of the elevator. I allow myself a fleeting glance at Dimitri, who stands just beyond the threshold, looking as if his heart has become lodged in his throat. The doors begin to shut, but he manages to slip past them before they seal and the lift lurches to life.

I press my back against the paneled wall, still doing my best to keep my gaze averted.

"What's wrong?" he asks.

 _What's wrong?_

It's a deceivingly simple question, only two syllables, barely two words. A simple question should warrant a simple answer, right? But the answer is not simple. If I were to try and explain all of the feelings swirling within me, all of the guilt and the memories and the phantom scars of my heart, I would probably start talking and never stop.

It would be easier to tell him what's _right_.

 _He_ is right…the curve of his jaw, the shape of his face, and the way he says my name – it's all right.

His beauty is unfathomable to me, and it's unfathomable that he can look at me with anything that isn't hate or disgust. I finally tilt my head up and our eyes meet, his are full of concern while mine remain full of tears I refuse to shed. But I don't want to cry. I don't want to be sad or to feel remorse or the loss of my parents. I don't want to feel anything that isn't Dimitri.

I take a step toward him, closing the gap between our bodies.

"Roza," he says gently. "Tell me what's wrong."

I've never been very good with words, and so instead of responding with an explanation I stand on the tips of my toes and press my lips to his. I want to explode and sag in relief all at the same time. His entire body tenses beneath the kiss and his hands come to rest on my hips but it isn't to embrace me, it's to make sure I don't come any closer than I already have.

"What are you doing?" his mouth murmurs against mine.

I press harder, wanting to go deeper, not caring that the kiss is desperate and pleading. Dimitri pulls away, looking down at me with wide, worried eyes. He opens his mouth to speak, but I cut him off before he can – speaking for the first time since we had climbed into the elevator.

"Please." It's the only word I find myself capable of uttering.

He hesitates, the concern on his face giving way into something else – something like want. My arms wrap around his neck and I pull him closer, so close that we share the same breath.

"What is it?" his voice cracks. "What do you need?"

Another loaded question, but this time I know the answer – and it's a simple one.

I take a shuddering breath, then release it along with my one word response. "You."

There is no more hesitation, no more worry. Our mouths crash together, each of us pouring all of the despair and the agony we have experienced in the last month into that one, desperate kiss. It had never occurred to me that maybe Dimitri needs this just as much as I do.

The kiss obliterates me, but I can feel the heat radiating off of his body, welding me back together piece by piece. The kiss deepens, his hands gripping me tighter and I feel myself shudder against him. He somehow manages to pull me closer, until the only thing that separates us is a few layers of flimsy fabric. One of his hands snakes up the small of my back and I feel myself gasp into his mouth. The tips of his fingers sear my flesh as they carve a trail to my neck and entangle themselves in my hair.

He kisses me until I forget my own name.

The sky could be falling down like rain, the building around me could be burning and I wouldn't have noticed. For all I know, I am plummeting to my death – the elevator careening through open air. I am deaf to everything but his breathing, his heartbeat, and the way his lips feel against my skin when he whispers my name like a prayer. I see nothing but the endless dark of his eyes, and the only thing I can taste is his mouth and his tongue and his skin beneath my teeth. My senses are dull and almost unbearably sharp all at the same time.

Then it's over.

The elevator dings, but I don't want to stop. I'm half-convinced that peeling myself off of Dimitri would be like trying to separate the skin from my body. It isn't until I hear the sounds of laughter and of someone clearing their throat that I force myself to look to the front of the elevator. The doors have parted and a group of young people stands just across the threshold. I do my best to look unfazed by their presence, but my heart is doing summersaults beneath my ribs.

I grab Dimitri by the wrist and drag him out of the elevator, past the group, one of whom takes it upon himself to whistle at us. I manage to ignore their teasing, choosing to focus instead on the fact that I don't know where we are.

But Dimitri does.

He glances down the hallway and then gestures for me to follow him to one of the rooms. He pulls out a keycard, similar to the one I had seen Christian use before. Apparently this is the room he has been staying in during our time in Portum.

He doesn't waste any time in picking up where we had left off in the elevator: his mouth is on mine before the door can close behind us. There is nothing gentle about his touch, not in the way he bites down on my lip, not in the way he grips my hips, not in the way he lifts me off the ground and presses me against the door. I can feel him between my thighs, igniting a need that burns deep within me – threatening to consume me.

I am a supernova, burning hotter and brighter than all of the stars in the sky.

My lids flutter shut and I feel a pressure beginning to build somewhere inside me, more deadly and more volatile than any explosive. He presses himself against me, driving me further up the door, trailing his lips against the corners of my mouth, my throat, the hollow of my collarbone…

Pain explodes behind my eyes, and my back arches toward Dimitri who notices instantly that something is wrong. My shoulder spasms uncontrollably, and I feel my fingers curl in on themselves.

"What's wrong?" he demands, taking a step back, freeing me from the door.

I want to sink to my knees, but I force myself to remain standing. "My shoulder," I manage say.

His breathing comes out in ragged gasps, and I can see my own agony reflected in his expression. He drags his glance away from me, settling on something behind me. I turn slightly and see what must have caused the pain rippling through me. The metal hinges of the door jut out from the frame a half-inch and I can feel where they had bit into my shoulder, aggravating my stitches and the nerves running from the nape of my neck to the tips of fingers.

Dimitri lets out a string of curses. "I'm sorry," he tells me, sounding stricken.

I swallow down the lump of pain that has risen in my throat. "For what?"

"For this," he says gesturing to me. "For that," he says, this time pointing to the hinges. "I shouldn't have been so…rough." His last words are forced, and his cheeks are flushed with embarrassment.

"This was my idea, Comrade, remember? The elevator?" I suddenly feel like a desperate child, one who can't communicate with their words and has to resort to a more physical, primitive form of communication.

"We…" he hesitates, then backtracks. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah," I tell him, my tone completely deflated. I can't even fool around without hurting myself or someone else. "I'm great."

"Roza," he says with mild exasperation.

He takes a step toward me, reaching for my hand with the tips of his fingers, his features strained with worry. There isn't a part of my body he hasn't touched, but now he is acting as if holding my hand might be lethal.

"You aren't going to hurt me," I whisper, choking back what remains of the ache in my shoulder.

He looks minutely surprised for a moment, then his eyes darken. "I just did."

I close the gap between our hands, twining our fingers together and giving them a gentle squeeze. "See?" I offer.

The corners of his mouth twitch, and I can't be sure whether he's fighting off a smile or a grimace. I begin to move away from the door and toward the bed, pulling him after me. This room is identical to the one Lissa and I have been staying in, minus the destruction, courtesy of Lissa. He doesn't try to stop me when I sit down on the edge of the mattress. He sits down next to me. Our hands, still laced together, rest in between us.

I can feel his gaze on me, weighted and wanting, but I keep my eyes fixed on the door.

"Are you going to tell me what happened earlier?" he asks.

The dining hall suddenly feels a million miles away, and what was actually ten minutes ago, feels like a lifetime. I turn my head slightly toward him and find that he is regarding me with his dark, knowing eyes.

"I don't really know how to explain it," I admit.

"Start from the beginning," he offers. "Why did you run out of the dining hall?"

"It was the story, Christian's story, the one about me." I can sense the hollowness of my own words, a result of my need to suck the emotion out of everything.

"Okay," he says, egging me on. "What about the story upset you?"

We're not in a cell, Dimitri is not an interrogator, I am not under oath, everything about my situation is neutral and yet I can't help but feel that I am under siege.

"Is it not true? Is it embarrassing?

I shake my head, watching as Dimitri rakes a hand through his long hair in frustration. I want to reach out and push it back from his forehead. It's gotten so long and I wonder if telling him he needs to cut it would be appropriate.

 _He doesn't want a haircut, he wants an explanation._

"The RPD likes to haze potential members, to make sure that only people of a certain caliber are accepted into their ranks. It's a bunch of elitist bullshit and they don't actually have a say in whose recruited – " I stop, realizing that I'm avoiding the parts of the story that matter. "My test was to break into the administration building and retrieve some flag that one of the graduates had planted there earlier."

"Did you find it?"

I nod, "And then some. I found my personnel file. It was a record of everything I've ever done, my entire life tucked neatly into a manila folder. Except there were things in there that I didn't even know about myself." I want to fold over on myself, keep folding over and over again until I disappear completely. "My parents were in there." I wait for Dimitri to say something, to say anything, but he remains impassive – waiting for me to finish. "My mother was an engineer."

This is the first time I've actually said it out loud – admitted that my mother was the kind of person I have trained my entire life to hunt down and kill.

"What about your father?" Dimitri asks.

My shoulders rise and fall in a defeated shrug. "It didn't say."

"So that night," he starts off slowly. "That's the night everything changed, isn't it?"

I squeeze my eyes shut, and a dam bursts in my mind – bombarding me with images of my graduation ceremony, overhearing the conversation that led me to Victor, watching Lissa throw her arms around his neck, me with a knife to Dimitri's throat…

"Yes," I whisper. "It led me to Victor, to Lissa, to you." My eyes open abruptly, and I move closer to him, holding his hand with mine over my heart. "But that's not why I'm upset. I don't regret the choices I've made."

His eyes betray a hint of disbelief.

"It's the truth," I tell him, my words laced with urgency. "I was taught that what I wanted didn't matter, that my choices weren't my own to make. But I did choose this. I walked into this with my eyes wide open, knowing what it would mean. I chose you, and if I live a hundred lifetimes I will choose you every time."

My mouth snaps shut when I realize that I'm rambling and probably sound like a lunatic. I wait for him to yank his hand away from mine, to run for the hills, to do anything but what he does next.

He pulls me toward him gently, and together we fall back onto the bed. We lie on our sides, facing each other, and when he kisses me it's unlike any other kiss we've shared before. It's not desperate or pleading, it's not meant to distract us from our problems. The kiss is light and tender and good, it's everything good in this world.

He pulls away, just barely, and our foreheads remain pressed against each other. "I'm not sure if we get more than one lifetime, and if not, if we only get this one chance – I think that would be enough for me. As long as I'm allowed to spend it with you."

 **Hey everyone! I'm not dead, just in law school. This chapter is a two-parter, but I have no idea when I'll be able to finish editing the other part so I thought I would just give you this fluffy monstrosity of an update in the meantime. STAY WITH ME I SWEAR I WILL FINISH. Okay, bye plz luv me and review.**


	12. Chapter 12

_**Rose –**_

" _Beauty is mysterious as well as terrible. God and devil are fighting there, and the battlefield is the heart of man."_

 _Fyodor Dostoyevsky_

The way a person sleeps says a lot about them.

Lissa sleeps with her mouth open, and with her limbs spread in every direction. She sleeps with reckless abandon – it's the one thing she does recklessly, the one thing she can't control or do carefully. She also kicks like a horse, but that's okay.

I can recall how Adrian had slept, slumped in the back seat of the jeep on the road to Portum Lux. He had twitched every few minutes, muttering something occasionally. As restless in the night as he is in the day time.

Dimitri doesn't stir in the night. There is an almost infallible method to the way he falls asleep. His breathing becomes slow and steady from the moment his head comes into contact with the pillow. The hard lines of his face soften to a childlike sereneness that he is only able to achieve when the rest of the world falls away. He's calm in a way I have never seen him when he's awake, as if he had dumped out the contents of his mind prior to closing his eyes.

I have never been one to sleep through the night. Between the academy wake-up calls at dawn to the lumpy dorm mattresses – sleep never came easily to me. It was something I only ever considered a necessity, something I did to stay alive, alert, and lethal. I slept so that I could live, and so that I could take life away.

I never knew that sleeping could be intimate. I never knew what sleeping next to someone you love could mean, what it could offer – warmth, security, and complete contentedness. To know that you aren't alone when you feel that person's chest pressed against your back, to know you are needed when their arm wraps itself around your waist, to memorize the exact way their lips part in an exhale of breath, it's all beautiful and unreal.

We had stayed awake that night for as long as our bodies allowed us. Kissing dissolved into talking, talking into whispers, and whispers into murmured promises until finally we allowed ourselves to succumb to exhaustion.

It was a perfect state of being. Or at least, it had been until a series of loud banging sounds, accompanied by a few rude comments pulled me out of his arms and led to me stumbling across the room to the door of the suite.

I yank it open as forcefully as possibly, grumbling a few rude comments of my own.

"What?" I demand, even though my brain hasn't even registered who is waiting for me across the threshold.

Christian Ozera opens his mouth to retaliate, but whatever he had been about to say dissolves into a fit of barely contained laughter. I look down and realize that my legs are bare and the tank top I had slept in clings to me like a second skin, the strap falling off my shoulder. My head snaps back up and a lock of tangled hair falls in front of my face.

"What?" I ask again, though this time with significantly more malice. "This had better be good."

Christian raises himself up on the tips of toes, craning his neck to see past me into the room. "Why?" he asks snidely. "It looks like someone already gave it to you good."

My good hand twitches by my side and I fight the urge to drag it across Christian's face. Instead I slip through the crack in the door and out into the hallway. "You have until the count of three to tell me why you're here."

"Somebody's grumpy this morning," he says, rolling back onto the balls of his feet. "I'll have you know I'm actually doing you both a favor."

I let out a snort of disbelief. "Is that what this is supposed to be? In the future, please keep your favors to yourself."

He sighs, the kind of sigh that someone uses when feigning annoyance, the kind that is simultaneously tinged with amusement. "All of your little friends passed their assessments," he tells me, as if that statement alone should explain why he's forced me out of bed.

"I'm sure they'll be delighted," I tell him deadpan.

His blue eyes flash. "It's time for them to be integrated into the system here at Portum."

"At least buy them dinner first," I tell him, a playful current underlying my words.

"Rose," he says with mild frustration. "Dimitri needs to go to class, he can't be late."

"Alright, alright," I say, waving a hand at him. "I'll tell him."

I retreat back toward the door, one hand poised on the smooth metal of the nob.

"And you," he says before I can disappear back into the suite. "You're not cleared for combat yet, but Tatiana wants you to shadow Ashford, get a feel for the training and the schedule."

I fight the urge to scowl at Christian. I know shadowing Mason means I'm one step closer to being the capable fighter I was before the train incident, but it also means parting with a certain, adorably sleepy Russian. Instead of scowling, I grunt in acknowledgement and then stomp back into the suite, closing the door behind me.

"Who was that?" asks Dimitri before the door even clicks into place.

I find that I am unable to immediately respond. Dimitri is still in bed, and the sight of him – propped up on his elbows with mussed hair and rumpled clothes sends my heart into a frenzy.

 _Who gets to look like that?_

"Christian," I tell him, turning away so he can't distract me with his jawline any more.

 _Not fair._

I yank on the pants I had worn the day before and rummage through the chest of drawers for a fresh shirt but the only thing that doesn't remind me of my investigator's uniform is a navy blue sweater. I ball it to my chest and turn to face Dimitri, who thankfully, has vacated the bed.

Well, almost.

He sits perched on the edge of it, one hand braced on his knee, and the other pushing dark strands of hair out of his eyes. "What did he want?" he asks.

"You have to go to Portum school with the rest of the crazies here," I say, trying to hide my disappointment that we won't be spending the day in the same way we had spent our evening. I shove the memory of his hands on my skin and my fingers in his hair to the back of my mind. "And I have to shadow Mason."

"That's a good thing, right?" he asks, rising to his feet. A few more inches and Dimitri's head would brush the ceiling.

"Yes," I say after a few moments of consideration. "Hopefully it will give me the chance to get a better feel for the guard, see what we're up against."

"Roza," he sighs, placing a hand on my good shoulder. "We don't know that we're up against anyone. Give the guard a chance, catch up with Mason. Who knows, you might even enjoy yourself."

"Ha ha, Comrade." I know he means well, know that he just wants what's best for me, but I'm sure he knows exactly what that is.

I'm not so sure I know either.

He leans down to press his lips to my forehead. "I'm serious," he murmurs. "Take it easy on the plotting and scheming today."

"Fine," I huff, nodding in resignation. "But I reserve the right to pick right back up with the plotting and scheming tomorrow morning."

He lets out a soft chuckle, and it's like I'm hearing music for the first time.

I find myself debating whether I should tell Christian that both Dimitri and I are devastatingly ill and could not possibly leave the room until at least three days from now. I might be a trained liar, but so is Christian. Instead, Dimitri and I share a brief kiss goodbye and I somehow manage to peel myself off of him.

Shrugging on the sweater, I leave the suite and join Christian in the hallway. He begins to make his way down the corridor, though not toward the elevator. Instead he heads toward the stairwell. We walk in a comfortable silence, neither of us overcome with the need to fill the void with words.

His blue eyes dart to the far end of the hallway and I notice for the first time that there is a small camera mounted just above the door. I feel a dull rage well up within me. I shouldn't be surprised. Of course Portum Lux has a surveillance system. But my anger isn't the result of noticing the camera now, but because I had failed to notice it earlier.

Christians pushes open the door to the stairwell, yanking it shut the moment I cross the threshold after him. Instead of making his way down the first flight of stairs, he turns his icy gaze on me. The silence from the corridor has followed us into the stairwell, and still neither of us speaks. His eyes are boring into mine, seemingly void of emotion.

"Are you going to tell me what yesterday was all about?" he asks.

Leave it to Christian to forgo any pleasantries and jump right in. I want to comment on how _tactful_ he remains even after all these years. Of course Christian would have noticed my dramatic exit from the cafeteria, even if he was spending most of that time making googly eyes at Lissa when he thought no one was looking.

"You're going to have to be more specific," I tell him evasively.

One corner of his mouth twitches. "Why did you leave in the middle of dinner?" he asks. There is a strange undercurrent to his words, like maybe he's asking because it's his job, and maybe he's asking because he cares what the answer is.

My eyes dart instinctively to the far corners of the stairwell, scanning the ceiling for any sign of a surveillance system.

"There are no cameras in here," Christian assures me, having noticed my assessment.

My eyes linger on the ceiling for a moment longer. "I was tired," I tell him with a shrug.

The look on Christian's face tells me that he has no intention of going along with my rouse. I'm lying and we both know it.

"You used to be better at this," he tells me. I'm not sure but he sounds slightly disappointed.

"At what?" I ask.

"Lying."

My body tenses and I have to force myself to speak my next words at a normal volume. "I guess I've lost my touch."

He draws back, realizing that mentioning my past with the RPD isn't the best way to get answers out of me.

Christian takes a breath, regrouping before asking "Why did you leave? One moment we're swapping stories, the next..." His voice tapers off and a knowing expression takes over. "It was the story wasn't it? The one about your initiation."

I shift my weight from one foot to the other, "It's not my favorite."

He narrows his eyes, his expression suddenly less knowing. "Now you're going to have to be more specific."

Despite everything, I find myself playing that night over again in my mind; escaping from the dormitories, scaling the walls of the administration building…the window had been left open. I remember how it had beckoned to me, it had been so obvious where I would find the flag. Why that window? The window that led me to my file, to my parents, to Victor and to Lissa…to Dimitri.

"Who planted the flag?" I demand. "That night, who put the flag in the administration building, in the room where they keep student records?"

Christian looks caught off guard, but only for the briefest moment. "Ah," he says. His tone is light, but he can't control his shifting eyes, or the sharp intake of breath. He hadn't been expecting my question. "That would be me."

And I hadn't been expecting his answer. "Why?" I force myself to ask. "Why the records room?"

He falters, and if any other person had done it, any other person without RPD training, I probably wouldn't have notice. Investigators don't falter, and just like that, I know he's hiding something from me.

"You knew," I say, inching toward him. "You knew that when I saw the files I wouldn't be able to resist reading my own."

He doesn't respond, and his silence drives me across the few feet of space that separates us. I shove him up against the metal railing of the landing – my forearm lodging itself against his throat. I can feel his pulse through my sweater, fluttering beneath his pale skin as I press against him, forcing him to lean backward over the bannister. His eyes dart to the side, to where nothing but a few hundred feet of open air separates him and the concrete ground waiting below.

"Did you know what I would find?" I hiss, pushing him further over the edge but he doesn't do anything to stop me, like maybe he thinks I wouldn't actually let him fall to his death.

"Yes," he grunts.

I press harder. He's leaning so far out now that instead of using my arm to push him back, I have to grip the collar of his shirt to keep him from toppling over the railing but he still doesn't fight back.

"You knew about my parents?!" I want to scream but my words come out choked as my throat constricts. "You knew what they were and you still recruited me?! Trained me to hunt people like them down, to kill them?!"

My chest is heaving and shuddering, I want to let go, to let him fall, but the confused look on his face makes me think twice.

"Your parents?" he gasps, and I can hear the fear creeping into his words. "Rose, what are you talking about?"

"They're dead," I say, fighting the tears and the urge to let go all at the same time. "They're dead and it's the RPD's fault! And you made me one of _them._ You're sick, every last one of you. _"_

Christian knew about my parents, he had known the whole time and he had still recruited me, still turned me into the very thing that had killed my parents. My life is just a joke to him, to the academy, something they could manipulate and beat away at until they could turn me into one of them – into a monster.

The terror that had been flickering in his eyes morphs into confusion. "Is that what you found?" he manages to gasp out.

My head tilts to one side and I pull every last detail of his expression into focus, trying to gauge the genuineness of his confusion. "I thought you knew what I would find?" I ask, and my tone betrays any confidence I might have mustered.

"I knew," he says, gritting his teeth. "That you would go through the personnel records, I didn't know any of the specifics of your file. It was just a part of the initiation."

"Why?" I demand, jerking him by the collar.

His entire body goes rigid beneath my grasp, and his right arm twitches – the first move he has made toward neutralizing me.

"Why make the recruits go through the trouble of obtaining their own files?"

My fists are clenched so tightly around his collar that they begin to tremble uncontrollably. I feel a few beads of sweat slide down the small of my back. The weeks I have spent malnourished and close to death have deprived me of my strength and I'm not sure how much longer I can dangle Christian over the edge of the landing.

"Rose," he gasps. "Please, just let me explain."

I hesitate, wondering if there is anything he could say to me that would change the implications of what he's already said, wondering if there's any combination of words that would make me believe that he isn't the sadistic monster I had believed him to be at the academy.

But despite everything, the memories and the signs and the evidence that all points to Christian being my enemy, I can't bring myself to let go. I can't be responsible for the death of another person, even if that person is Christian Ozera. No more blood on my hands, no more notches on my red belt, no more killing.

I yank him back over the railing, taking a jerky step backward. Christian does his best to look unperturbed, to maybe pretend that I hadn't been dangling him over the open air a few moments earlier, but I hear him curse under his breath as he darts away from the bannister and retreats to the other side of the landing.

He rakes one hand through his inky black air, dislodging a few strands that fall forward to shape his face.

"Well?" I demand, not waiting for him to fully regain his composure.

"I've never read your personnel file." He spits out the words like they're poison. "I didn't know exactly what you would find, only that you would find something – something about the person you were before the academy." He stands up a little straighter and he becomes less shaky with each word. "We do it to all of the recruits."

"Why?" I ask again. "What purpose could that possible serve?"

"To ensure that the recruits who elected to go through Risk Prevention training didn't have any attachments. We let them have access to information about themselves that they had probably never seen before. We told them the truth about their parents, their siblings, their homes - and if they still chose to go through with the training, chose to ignore what they had learned, and then we could be sure that their loyalties would lie solely with NAAMA. Recruits who start the program with lingering questions about their past make for bad investigators, the initiation was just a way to prevent that from happening."

I clench my teeth together to keep from gaping at him. "In case you were looking for feedback, your little hazing ritual had the opposite effect on me."

"Yes," he says exasperatedly. "I can see that. But, Rose, you have to believe me – if I had known – "

"You what?" I bark, cutting him off. "What would you have done differently? The RPD had been waiting to sink their teeth into me after my first day of Intermediate Interrogation, I was always slated to join them and there was nothing you or me or anybody else could have done about it."

Christian opens his mouth to speak, but no words come out. He doesn't know what to say to me, and truthfully I don't want him to say anything. We both know I'm right, the recruiters had wanted me from day one – I was everything they needed me to be, blindly loyal and completely broken.

"Your parents," he starts off, but a low growl from me sends hesitation streaking through his words. "They were killed by the RPD."

I can't tell if he had meant to ask me a question or to clarify what I had already told him. "My mother was an engineer."

Christian winces. "And you found the investigators' report in your file?"

I fall back against the door that leads back into the corridor and let out a haggard breath. "Not exactly."

"Then what did you find?" he asks, shifting his weight back and forth.

"That my parents are presumed dead," I tell him bitterly, folding one arm protectively across my chest.

Christian's eyes widen minutely, his fists clench at his sides, and his breathing quickens – it's not like him to give his emotions away like this. He's practically vibrating with a mixture of apprehension and intrigue.

He runs his tongue along his bottom lip, "Did it mention the cause of death?"

I shake my head "Classified."

"What about your father?" he asks, doing very little to mask his interest in the subject. "Was he an engineer too?"

"His profession was labeled as _unknown_."

Christian furrows his brow in thought and then glances down at the watch on his wrist. "You're late," he says, not looking up at me. "Mason is probably waiting downstairs for you. Come on."

He starts to move down the stairs but I shoot out a hand to stop him. "Don't bother, I'll figure it out," I tell him, and I'm already moving down the stairs before he can protest.

Christian knows better than to follow me, but I listen for the sound of his footsteps anyways. When I'm sure that he isn't coming after me, I begin taking the steps two at a time, trying to get as far away from him as fast as possible.

Christian hadn't known about my parents, and my finding out the truth had all been just a sick twist of fate. The realization feels like a dagger sinking into my flesh, another piece of useless information and I am still no closer to finding them.

I find that when I burst through the doors of the Duval that Christian had been right and Mason is waiting for me on the stone steps. He unhitches himself from the pillar he had been leaning against, his usual grin plastered across his face.

"What took you so long?" he asks, trotting up to me. "I was 45 seconds away from coming in there to hunt you down myself."

It takes me a moment to recover from my encounter with Christian, but Mason's smile helps to push the conversation to the car corners of my mind.

I manage a smile of my own. "I have a lot of sleep to catch up on."

"Ah," he says, eyes alight. "That makes sense, you deserve it, and I guess it helps that the beds here are significantly nicer than the ones you're used to."

I let out a snort, "That's putting it mildly."

A few moments pass. "So," he says, shuffling his feet. "Tatiana says you're not at full capacity yet, but that she still wants you to learn what you can about the ad Salvum."

"What exactly does she want me to learn?" I ask incredulously.

He shrugs "I don't think she really cares, she just didn't want you sitting on your ass all day."

I can't help but laugh, "Fair enough. Lead the way, Mase."

Mason's eyes narrow slightly and a wicked smile plays on his lips, "That's Captain Ashford to you."

I feel my eyes roll in my head. "Whatever you say, _Captain Ashford._ "

Mason leads me toward the remains of a warehouse. Like the rest of Portum, the building has obviously seen better days. The windows that aren't boarded up are shattered, and the paint has faded after years of neglect. I have grown accustomed to Portum's rundown exterior, though I would never admit that it's actually pretty ingenious; rugged and abandoned on the outside, clean and modern on the inside – it's the perfect disguise.

He stops in front of a door that appears to be clinging to the frame by one last set of hinges. It groans unceremoniously as he pulls it open and gestures for me to enter. I have to blink back my surprise when the corridor comes into focus. Unlike the Duval or the council chambers, or really any structure I have been inside of, the warehouse's interior matches the exterior. The concrete walls are cracked and marred with scorch marks, and the few remaining lights flicker, casting slanted shadows along the dingy floor.

"Uh, Mase…" I say, wrinkling my nose at the dank curtain of stale air that has wafted out of the warehouse. "Where are you taking me?"

He cuts a glance in my direction, a wry smile on his freckled face, "It's a surprise," is all he says before walking into the warehouse.

"Wonderful," I say dryly, striding purposefully into the building after him. "I love surprises."

The rickety door falls shut behind us with a clang and the only sounds that fill the corridor are that of our footsteps echoing off the stone walls. Soon, the echoes melt away, mixing with the growing sounds of shouting and grunts coming from the other side of swinging double doors that stand at the end of the hallway.

I tense instinctively, but Mason doesn't react beyond casting me another smile over his shoulder. There's something about the way Mason's blue eyes light up when he smiles, the way one corner of his mouth pulls upward just a little higher than the other, the slight tilt to his head and the strands of red hair that fall in front of his eyes that is completely disarming and familiar to me. Mason's smile is one of the few things from my days at the academy that doesn't send pain shooting through my nervous system. It's the first time I've felt like maybe this place could be my home.

Mason pauses for a moment, "What?" he asks, his smile giving way to a look of mild confusion. "Why are you staring at me? Do I have something on my face?" His hands brush over his jaw and cheeks, wiping away dirt that isn't there.

I stop a few inches away from him, feeling a little stunned, but mostly stupid for having been caught staring. "Nothing," I say, shaking my head fervently.

His brows knit together and he looks unconvinced. "Rose…" he says quietly, and his expression softens.

But whatever he had been about to say dies on his lips at the sound of what could only be described as a battle cry, snapping us both out of the moment.

"What was that?" I ask, eager to move on.

Mason doesn't miss a beat and his broad grin returns. "You're gonna love it."

Mason pushes past the doors without bothering to elaborate, and the dull roars that had been coming from the other side grow louder. We stand side by side in the doorway, and my eyes widen as they try to take in all the details of the warehouse

"Well?" asks Mason. "What do you think?"

At the front of the room are rows upon rows of people, men and women, each partnered with another. They appear to be running through a set of training drills, their arms and legs kicking and jabbing out in precise, synchronous motions. Their movements are punctuated by grunts and shouts. Everywhere I look there are people sparring with one another, fists and elbows and feet all in constant motion.

"That explains the smell," I tell Mason out of the corner of my mouth.

Mason laughs unabashedly, "You get used to it. Come on, I'll show you around."

We begin to move through the rows of fighters, and as we make our way toward the back of room I begin to notice something strange

Mason had always been popular among our peers. Well, as popular as you can be when you're peers are all trained killers. Maybe popular isn't the right word. Popular implies that people like you. Investigators don't like anything with a beating heart, but they had at least respected him.

He weaves in and out of the sparring members of the ad Salvum, his red hair like a beacon among the sea of moving bodies and swinging limbs. A few of the recruits stop to smile at Mason, to clasp his shoulder, and exchange a few words of encouragement. They look at him with some strange emotion I can't quite discern, something more than respect – something more like pride.

These men and women are proud to work with him, to fight alongside him and to learn from him.

Is this what it's like to fight for something, not because you're forced to, but because you believe in what you're fighting for?

"This is where we do most of our training," says Mason, gesturing to the warehouse. "It's not the state of the art facilities that the RPD let us use, but it's enough."

I recall how the medical facilities at Portum had looked, how the House Chamber had been so painstakingly restored to its former glory…

"Mason," I ask, turning to face him. "Not to bash your little warehouse, I'm sure it's very charming, but the rest of Portum is pretty modern, and this place is…"

"A dump?" he offers.

"You said it," I tell him.

"I'm not sure what you've been able to gather about how former military are treated in Portum Lux," he says, turning to continue his tour. "But the council doesn't think very highly of us. The only reason we're allowed to stay is because most of the civilians have string bean arms and would never hold up against a border assault or some other attack. We're second-class citizens," he says, coming to a halt in front of a raised platform. "And we get second-class accommodations and facilities."

"That doesn't seem fair," I huff, coming to stand beside him. "Tatiana gets to sit in her stuffy office all day, and the people who are supposed to be protecting her have to deal with this?" I gesture to a slimy substance that drips from the ceiling and has begun to accumulate in a puddle on the floor.

"Maybe not," he says, stepping up onto the platform. "But there isn't a whole lot we can do about it right now." He turns to extend a hand to me. "But enough questions, it's time to see what Rose Hathaway is made of."

…

As it turns out, I am made mostly of curse words and scowls.

Mason and I spend the next few hours shadow-boxing, each of us taking special care to avoid my still-healing arm. Well, Mason had spent the majority of the time kicking my ass, and I had spent the time trying to remain vertical.

A few of the other guards had gathered around the platform to watch. Mason had gone on to explain that the platform was meant to be a sparring ring, but that the counsel had never gotten around to getting the ad Salvum the pads and ropes that were needed to complete it.

My entire body has begun to ache by the end of the 6th hour and I want to kick myself for allowing my arms and legs to grow as weak as they have. Mason, having noticed my struggle, orders the match to a halt and we step off of the platform together. We are immediately replaced by two women who begin to spar with each other.

The fighters move like water, every kick and jab is executed with fluid precision. The women were meant to be opponents, but they seem to move as one unit, almost as if the entire match had been carefully choreographed and each of them had spent their lives dancing instead of fighting.

More people have begun to crowd around the ring, and everywhere bodies push up against each other. The air is still thick with sweat and salt and blood, but no one seems to care, not with the excitement crackling all around.

It takes me a moment to realize that there are more people cramped into the dank warehouse than before – not just guards but civilians.

"School must be out," says Mason, leaning down to be heard over the cheers of the onlookers. "Watching the ad Salvum train is about as close as it gets to entertainment around here, so people like to visit the warehouse afterhours to watch."

The two women step out of the ring, replaced by another pair of fighters – just as lethal as their predecessors. The cries grow louder, almost deafening, and the entire building buzzes with exhilaration.

My eyes scan the sea of moving bodies, searching for one face in particular, wondering if it's possible that Dimitri and the others had ended up in the warehouse. I eventually see him, his dark hair swept back into a ponytail. His expression is a reflection of my own – hungry and enthralled, cheeks flushed with adrenaline. He offers me one of his rare smiles and in that moment the cheers of the onlookers fade away into nothing. I begin to make my way toward him.

Suddenly, the lights flicker off and the room is plunged into complete darkness and the illusion is shattered. A few people scream, but their curses and cries are drowned out by the sound of a deafening alarm. The sounds and the sudden blackness of my surroundings are disorienting.

The alarm lets out three loud bursts and then a disembodied voices crackles over the speakers to issue a warning: "Code Red, all citizens remain where they are, I repeat, Code Red."

The message plays over and over again, broken up by the incessant ringing of the alarm. My heart slams against my chest in perfect synchronization. The people around me have stopped yelling and the excitement from earlier has transformed into widespread panic.

I try to force myself to move toward where I had last seen Dimitri, but someone's clammy hands clamps down on my wrist.

"Code red?" someone hisses. "I don't remember what code red means!"

I yank my hand away, and reel backward into another person.

"Code red!" the voice asks again. "What is a code red?"

I feel another hand come to rest on my shoulder, "Rose?!" The voice is tinged with dread. "Is that you?"

"Mason," I gulp. "What's going on? What is a code red?"

He squeezes my shoulder "It could be nothing, it could just be a drill."

"And if it's not a drill, then what?" I ask, my blood thrumming through my veins.

"Intruders."

 **NO MORE FINALS. Hands down hardest thing I've ever done, and it feels so good to write again! I'm pretty much officially on break so I'm going to try and get ahead on Haven and my other fics. Thank you for sticking with me (especially Gigi who checks on me to make sure I'm not dead). Also, if you're not following me on tumblr (shadowkissed-rachel), I sometimes post sneak peeks in-between long updates. Happy Holidays!**


	13. Chapter 13

_**Vasilisa -**_

" _We must let go of the life we have planned, so as to accept the one that is waiting for us."_

 _Joseph Campbell_

 __The warehouse is dark.

But it's not the all-encompassing kind of darkness that swallows up the world, leaving nothing but black in its wake. Flashes of red light cut through the shadows, illuminating the ashen faces of the people huddled around me. The civilians I had come to the warehouse with cower in fear, but not the soldiers we had had been watching. The men and women who had been fighting in the ring just moments earlier remain crouched on the raised platform, their muscles are tense and expressions fierce.

I can't see Rose anywhere among the throng of fighters but I know she must be here somewhere. Dimitri is somewhere to my left, though I had seen him moving toward the ring moments before the alarm had gone off.

"Code Red, all citizens remain where they are, I repeat, Code Red."

The message plays over and over again on a loop, the only thing to break up the bursting sounds of the alarm. The noise reverberates off of the stone walls and the cracked ceiling tiles of the warehouse. Being in such a space is almost unbearable. The air is thick with tension and the smell of salt – the blood and the sweat mixing together with the bitter tang of fear.

I would give anything to make it stop – to make it all stop.

My eyes dart around the room, searching for Dimitri or Rose or Adrian, someone…but I can't find a single familiar face among the sea of pale faces and terror.

My legs wobble and it takes only few more moments before I fall to my knees, palms to the grimy floor and chest heaving.

"Code Red, all citizens remain where they are, I repeat, Code Red."

 _What is a Code Red?_

I feel a hand clamp down on my shoulder and pull me to my feet. I open my mouth to protest but the unspoken words die on my lips when I find myself staring into a pair of icy blue eyes. Christian doesn't look worried like the civilians, nor is he poised to fight like the soldiers. He looks more exhausted than anything.

"Lissa." Christian whispers my name, pushing out the word with a sigh of what could be relief, of what could be exasperation. I don't let myself consider why he might be relieved to see me.

He says something else but his words are drowned out by the return of the alarm. Christian grits his teeth, wincing at the sound, but he only let's his expression reflect his agitation for a brief moment. He furrows his brows in determination, then pulls on my arm to lead me toward the far end of the warehouse.

I want to pull away, to demand he tell me where he's taking me but I know it would be pointless. A part of me knows that even if Christian could hear me, he wouldn't listen. Christian would probably toss me over his shoulder before he let me walk away.

The other part of me is grateful to be led out of this nightmare.

We weave in and out of the swarm of moving bodies and I can see faces oscillating between terror and conviction. No one pays us any attention, they're too focused on the mysterious woman's voice warning them to stay where they are. Christian has obviously decided that her words don't apply to us though, and he shoves open the backdoor to the warehouse and pulls me out after him.

Cool night air washes over me, and I suck down heaving breaths of it – not having realized just how cloying the air in the warehouse had been until this moment.

Christian releases his hold on me almost instantly, only to push me up against the stone walls of the warehouse, pinning me beneath him. My mind is reeling. I try to process what's happening but the heat radiating from Christian seems to bleed into me and it's the only thing I can concentrate on. His face is so close to mine, and the memory of us standing in the library comes rushing back to me – the near kiss.

This seems like a strange time to rekindle that moment. I try to remind myself of the reality of the situation. Something is wrong, there is a warehouse full of terrified civilians at my back, but it's like trying to hold water in the palm of my hand. My pounding heart tells my brain to shut up and accept that Christian's mouth is only a few inches away from my own. My body trembles beneath his in anticipation, my blood thrumming in my veins.

I want this.

But his grip on my shoulders is too tight, and the look on his face is warped with regret and I realize too late that this moment is not what I thought it was – this is not about desire.

All of the feelings that had been building within me fizzle out, replaced with a new dread that roils in my gut.

"Lissa."

Christian has said my name before, but not like this. The word is sharp, edged like a knife, like the physical manifestation of it is meant to cut me open.

"I'm going to ask you a question," he says quietly. It's obvious that he is struggling to keep his tone even, but the pale webbing of veins standing out on his neck gives him away. "And I need you to answer the question."

I audibly gulp, my throat bobbing.

"And I need you to tell me the truth."

I want to answer but I can taste the terror in my mouth like bitter metal. I can't speak, so I settle for nodding feebly. I can still feel every inch of his body pressed against mine and I struggle to reconcile how that fact can fill me with equal parts desire and alarm.

"Was there someone else?" he demands.

I feel my eyes widen, and I have to blink back my surprise. "What?" I ask, my bewilderment momentarily overcoming my fear.

"How many people left the compound with you?"

I shift beneath him. "Five," I manage to grate out. "It was just Rose, Dimitri, Adrian, Mikhail and me. You know that already."

He closes his eyes, his tongue darting out to wet his lips before saying, "Please don't lie to me, Lissa."

"I'm not lying!" I snap, managing to choke back what remains of my distress. I push against him, trying to shove him off of me, but I would probably have better luck with the stone wall at my back.

His eyes darken, turning from a glacial blue to the dark cobalt of a stormy sea, a reflection of the tempest that no doubt rages inside of him.

"Christian, what is going on? Does this have something to do with the alarm?"

He holds my gaze for just a moment longer before tearing himself away and now the only thing holding me up is the wall at my back. He rakes a hand through his hair in frustration. His head remains bowed but I can still feel the tension radiating from him.

"Is it possible that anyone followed you?" he asks, ignoring my question.

His inquiry catches me off guard as I consider the possibilities "What? I don't think so…I guess it's possible?"

His head snaps up. "Think, Lissa. Is there anyone who knew where you were going? Anyone who would have followed you here"

"No," I say defensively, not appreciating Christian's lack of faith in my answers. "Of course there were guards who knew we left, they assaulted us, but no one knew where we were going. The only people who even knew about the Havens were Rose, Dimitri, Adrian, Mikhail, and..."

My throat constricts and the last name won't come.

"And?" Christian asks, taking a step back toward me.

It feels like someone has punched me in the stomach and I want to double over, to keep folding over and over until I disappear completely. My eyes falls shut, but instead of seeing black, I see a face – a familiar face with eyes the same green as my own.

"Victor." I whisper. "Victor knew."

I open my eyes, expecting to see Christian looking angry and upset, but his expression has fallen and he almost looks sad, though I can't imagine why.

He sucks in a breath. "So this Victor person knew where you were going?"

Revulsion spreads like damp beneath my skin at the sound of his name but I force myself to nod. Something flashes across his face before he turns his back on me.

"Christian," I say as forcefully as I can, swallowing hard. "What is a Code Red?"

He doesn't face me, instead he cranes his neck and looks up toward the night sky – a thick looking blanket of stars. He stares at them so intently that I begin to wonder if those burning balls of gas hold the answer to my question.

"Do you remember the first night you came here?" He might be speaking to me, but he doesn't look at me when he does.

It's not an answer, but I decide to see where Christian's words take me. "How I could I forget." I try to keep the bitterness from tainting my words. Portum Lux had been anything but welcoming.

"Did you ever wonder how we found you? How we knew you were here?"

I feel myself shrug. "We weren't exactly being stealthy. I just assumed someone had seen us entering the city."

"Not quite," he says, finally turning away from the night sky to face me. "You must have seen the cameras by now." I nod solemnly and he continues. "They're not just inside the city, we have surveillance equipment set up everywhere – up to a 15 mile radius from the central hall."

"You saw us coming from a mile away." I say, too tired to sound contemptuous

"Literally." The corner of his moth twitches and the sarcastic boy I had come to know blinks into existence for a brief moment.

"Is that what a Code Red is?" I ask, trying to fit the pieces together. "That the cameras outside the city have picked something up?"

Christian shakes his slowly from side to side. "No. There are layers of defense. The cameras are just the first. There are other, more…sensitive measures in place."

I peel myself away from the warehouse. "What is it then?" My fists begin to tremble but my voice does not.

"Someone made it past the cameras and the – " He stops short, probably afraid to reveal too much to me. "A Code Red means that someone has breached the city."

I stiffen. "And so you came to me first? You just assumed that me or my friends had something to do with it?"

"That's not it," he snaps. "I'm not accusing you of anything."

My temper flares and I take a step toward him. "Were you not accusing me when you threw me up against a wall and interrogated me? Is that your idea of _not accusing_ a person of something?"

Christian opens his mouth to retaliate, but it snaps shut when he realizes that I'm right.

"I'm sorry," he says, sounding strangely sincere. "It's just…think about it. You and your rag-tag bunch of friends, who have caused nothing but trouble since they got here, show up and then less than a week later, someone manages to get past all of our defenses. It would be stupid of me to assume that these events aren't somehow related to each other."

"And we all know how you feel about stupid," I huff.

Christian barely spares me a glance. "Who is Victor anyways?"

I flinch. How do I even begin explaining who Victor is?

 _A genius._

 _A revolutionary._

 _A monster._

"He's my uncle." My words are hollow, and where I had expected to feel pain or remorse or guilt, I feel nothing.

"Your what? Your uncle?" Christian exclaims, his features lit up with relief. "Why didn't you just say so?"

He places a hand on each shoulder, and leans in to press a kiss to my cheek. It happens so quickly that I can barely register his lips on my skin before he has pulled away. He's smiling, but it falters as his eyes take in my own sunken expression.

"S-sorry," he sputters. "I didn't mean to – I just…this is good news. If it's just your uncle then we don't have to worry about the possibility of more intruders. Why didn't you tell me he was coming?"

My feet are rooted to the spot, and I stare at Christian with wide, broken eyes.

 _Christian doesn't understand._

Of course he doesn't understand. How could he possibly know what this man has done to me?

Somewhere in the distance, the alarm continues to blare.

"Lissa," he says, sounding worried. "What's wrong?"

"Where is he now? The intruder?" I demand.

Christian looks mildly confused, but answers me anyways. "With Sage. He's unconscious."

I feel something crack beneath my ribs. "I need to see him."

He hesitates, "Lissa, I'm not so sure – "

"Now." My voice is strained and it takes everything I have not to scream at him.

"I know you're worried about him, but I don't think Tatiana would approve."

I feel laughter bubble up in my throat, and a sad, watery smile accompanies it. "I'm not worried." I tell him. "I want to make sure it's him. There's a chance that it's not – that it's someone else, and this is all just a big coincidence and –"

Each of my words comes out more unhinged than the one before it and Christian can tell that something isn't right.

"Okay," he says, holding out a hand to me. "I'll take you to him, but we have to be quick about it"

I take it and let him lead me through the night once more.

…

The medical ward is silent and it takes me a moment to realize that the alarm has finally stopped. The walls are brilliantly white and the air smells like rubbing alcohol and bleach. I follow Christian down a series of hallways, each as clean and bright as the one before it. We don't pass a single person and it feels like a graveyard, albeit a very sterile one.

I wring my hands together as we walk, a habit that I realize I have developed since coming to Portum Lux. I'm sure that if I were to look down, I would see bits of skin flaking off from where I have rubbed them raw.

Christian turns down another corridor, but this one dead ends at a pair of sleek metal doors. My heart feels like a battering ram beneath my ribs.

 _It's not him._

 _It's not possible._

I try to recall the last time I had seen Victor but the only image that comes to mind is of him with a knife pressed against Rose's throat. We had left him stranded on the outskirts of the compound, unconscious and bleeding.

We had been convinced that the RPD would arrest him if they found him – for failing to deliver what had been bargained for – for his failure to give up Rose

Another, darker part of me, had thought he was dead, had maybe even hoped that he was.

The metal doors part for us automatically, revealing a stark looking room with one female occupant. She stands in front a window that has been set into the far wall. She barely spares Christian and me a glance, keeping her head bent over a clipboard so that strands of her blonde hair fall in front of her face like a curtain. She scribbles away furiously, only looking up to peer past the thick glass every few moments.

I suddenly freeze in the doorway, but Christian doesn't seem to notice. He sweeps past me and moves to stand next to the girl.

"I was wondering when you would show up," she says, her gaze flicking to the window.

Christian folds his arms across his chest, his head tilting to the side thoughtfully. "How is he?"

The girl finally looks up from her work. "Alive."

She says the word without feeling, like she's giving directions or explaining how something works to a child.

Christian glances over his shoulder to where I stand, still frozen on the threshold. The girl follows his gaze. Her eyes are the color of molten gold, but seem to be full of something more than just flecks of precious metal.

"Who is this?" she asks, a tense undercurrent to her words. "Does Tatiana know she's here?"

"Sage," says Christian. "This is Lissa. Lissa, this is Sage." He gestures for me to join them and my body moves without me telling it to.

She clears her throat. "You can call me Sydney." She stares at me intently, not seeming placated by Christian's introduction.

"There's a chance that Lissa might be able to help us identify our John Doe," says Christian, trying to sound encouraging.

Sydney turns to say something else to Christian but their voices are suddenly muffled, we might as well be underwater. I'm finally close enough to the glass to see through it and the rest of my waking world has fallen away.

On the other side is a man. He lies on a cot with needles in his arms and tubes up his nose and there are machines beeping and computers spitting out reports but I barely register any of it. My eyes fall on his sunken cheeks, on the skin that is tinged with purple and blue and stretched too tightly over his pointed chin. One hand dangles over the side of the bed, barely grazing the concrete floor beneath him. His fingers are painfully thin and the remains of his nails are cracked and yellowing. Even through the thick glass, I can tell that his breathing is labored.

This man is dying.

"Lissa."

I blink a few times, hoping that it will help me focus, but mostly hoping it will snap a new version of reality into place.

"Lissa."

My head swivels to the side, to where Christian and Sydney stand – each of them wearing matching concerned expressions.

I realize for the first time that Christian has been trying to get my attention.

He turns to Sydney. "Could you give us a moment?"

She arches an eyebrow, but doesn't argue. "Don't do anything stupid," she warns, but she sounds more bored than worried.

Sydney leaves without another word. Christian waits for the sound of the doors sliding together before taking a step toward me so that our shoulders are touching.

"What's wrong" he asks, nudging me gently. "It's not him?"

I shake my head.

"Then what is it?" he asks, sliding in front of me. I can no longer see into the other room, for which I am strangely grateful. "If that's not him then why do you look like you've just seen a ghost?"

 _Because I have._

"It is him," I say quietly. "That's Victor."

I had known it was him from the moment I had entered the room. Even underneath all of the machines and the wires and the air of death, I had been able to recognize the man who had raised me – the man who had betrayed me.

Christian stares at me with a look I can't discern. "Why do I get the feeling that you aren't glad to see him?"

"Because I'm not," I retort, and I feel my resolve finally crack. "He shouldn't be here! He should be locked in a cell or buried in the ground – he should be anywhere but here! It's not possible."

Christian's eyes widen at my outburst. "I thought he was your family –"

"Blood isn't everything," I tell him coldly.

I turn on my heel, suddenly desperate to leave the tiny viewing gallery. Christian is too quick though, and I am reminded that he was raised and trained in the same military academies as Rose. He stands between me and the doors, a mixture of concern and determination etched on his face.

"What did he do?" he asks.

I am again reminded of his training. Investigators are trained to ask questions, to be relentless in their pursuit of the truth. It's unlikely that Christian would let me off the hook so easily.

"He raised me," I tell Christian bitterly, spitting out the words like a poison. "He taught me everything I know, he made me into the person that I am." I can feel my own despair, rippling in the air all around me. "But he had to break me first, so that he could mold me into what he wanted."

Now Christian is the one rooted to the spot, but after a few moments I see something fracture behind his eyes, like little starbursts of pain. "I'm sorry," he says quietly.

It's strange to think about how when most people say that they're sorry, what they really mean is that they understand.

"Why should you be sorry," I say, choking on the words. "You're not the one who sold my parents out to the Risk Prevention Department, you're not the one who fed me lie after lie, and you're not the one who tortured Rose."

Christian's entire body goes rigid. "He did that?" he asks disbelievingly.

My eyes narrow. "Like I said, blood isn't everything. Anyone can betray you. Sharing blood doesn't protect you from it, it just makes it hurt more when it happens."

Christian falls back against the sliding doors, as if the weight of my words has knocked the air from his lungs and he can no longer stand on his own.

"You want to know who your John Doe is?" I ask, taking a step toward him. "He's the worst kind of monster – the cunning kind, the unassuming kind that preys on the weaknesses of others and you had better hope that he doesn't wake up."

I wait for Christian to look at me with disgust or horror, but the expression never comes. His chest rises and falls slowly, deliberately, as if he has to concentrate on keeping his breathing under control. We stand there for a long moment, each of us unsure of how to proceed.

I can't undo what I said, I can't wipe away these ugly parts of myself. All of the hate and the betrayal and brutality that I have experienced in my life has changed me, like water collecting in the cracks of stone and splintering it apart when the water freezes. This world has made me brave and strong and broken.

"I should go," I finally say, unable to bare the silence any longer. "I gave you what you needed. He's only dangerous when he's talking, and he was probably alone. I wouldn't worry about anyone else following him down here."

He steps to the side, as if to let me pass, but speaks so that his words stop me in my tracks. "We have more in common than you probably think." I crane my neck, letting our eyes meet. "She betrayed me too."

It takes me a moment to realize who he's talking about, and when I do, I feel stupid.

It's so easy to forget that Christian is an Ozera.

"Natasha," I say quietly. "She's the Executor."

Christian flinches, but doesn't react beyond that small movement. "Yes, but first, she was my aunt. She raised me and then she – " He clenches his teeth together, as if he could keep the truth trapped behind them like a dam holds back a flood. "I understand what it's like."

I feel his fingers catch at my own, and they twine together.

"He won't hurt you again," he tells me. His words are meant to be comforting but they are still edged with a promise of violence.

Before I can respond, the metal doors slide apart and Christian nearly falls backward onto the floor. Only his years of training keeps him upright. He whirls around, angling himself so that he stands mostly in front of me. I realize that he's trying to hide me from whoever stands across the threshold from us.

"Good," says a high, clear voice. "I was worried I would have to hunt you both down."

Tatiana moves past both of us, gliding into the room, followed by Rose who wilts with relief at the sight of me.

"Now," says Tatiana, her usual tone of superiority clouded with exhaustion. "Someone had better start talking."

 **Yo so I realize that this was a lot of dialogue but I just really really love writing Lissa and Christian and he was kind of oblivious up until this point. I want to build up their relationship as much as possible – you guys know how I love a slow burn. Also thank you for sticking with me! I know my schedule sucks but I'm hoping that this summer will provide me with more opportunities to write. There are a few scenes coming up that I have been waiting to share with you all since the very beginning and I am so so so excited, I hope you all are too!**


	14. Chapter 14

**_Rose –_**

 _Each generation imagines itself to be more intelligent than the one that went before it, and wiser than the one that comes after it._

 _George Orwell_

 _Intruders?_

I lean into Mason, my back pressing against his chest. "What's the protocol for intruders?" I shout, desperate to be heard over the alarm.

There has to be some kind of protocol for this kind of situation. The NAAMA military has a system in place for every possible scenario, and from what I had observed so far, these former soldiers had yet to stray too far from their militaristic customs and mercenary training.

"It's probably just a drill," he shouts back.

"A drill?" I question, trying to squirm around in his grasp to face him. "Why does everyone look so scared then?"

I have no idea if Mason actually heard my question, but he doesn't respond. Instead he clutches my shoulders and begins steering me toward the front of the warehouse. The excitement that had been crackling all around during the sparring sessions has faded into terror and the air no longer tastes of salt and sweat; now I can taste dread, rippling off of the civilians in waves and I realize that the reason the academies had been so insistent on rooting out fear is that too much of it can drown you.

The soldiers look neither scared nor confused. Instead, a battle calm has settled over them; none of them seem to think the alarm going off is some kind of unscheduled drill.

We reach the front of the room and Mason stretches an arm past me to push open one of the swinging doors, still gripping my shoulder with the other hand. He breaks into a run as soon as we cross the threshold and I follow him without hesitation. The alarm isn't as loud in the dingy corridor, but I still can't hear our footsteps echoing off the walls the way I could earlier.

We burst through the second set of doors - Mason never faltering, his pace never slowing. He veers hard to the left, toward the capitol building. I want to ask where we're going, and why we're running if he thinks this is just a drill, but I keep my mouth shut - partly because I don't want to question Mason, and partly because I barely have enough air in my lungs to maintain my current speed.

Portum is eerily quiet. It seems that even in a state of emergency, they are unwilling to do anything that might draw attention to them, anything that might give them away. The city blocks are so vastly different from the flashing red bulbs and the bursting alarm that it's almost disorienting.

"Captain Ashford!" The words bring both of us to a screeching halt.

My eyes dart to the surrounding area, searching for the owner of the voice, but Mason's hand fumbles for his pockets and he pulls out a radio.

"This is Ashford," he says, his thumb pressed down on the side of the radio. His voice is steady, and I curse my own heavy breathing and scorched lungs. "I'm en route."

 _En route to where?_

"Negative, negative," the voice crackles. "Head to the med center."

Mason isn't fazed by the command. "Understood."

He slips the radio back into his pocket without any further communication.

"Damn, Hathaway," he says with a grin that feels out of place in the shadowy bones of the city. "You're even more out of shape than I thought."

My nostrils flare. "Just you wait, _Captain_ Ashford," I manage to speak my words without gasping for air.

"Come on," he says, with the ghost of his usual smirk still on his mouth. "There's been a change of plans." He turns and starts toward the direction we had just come from, his steps nearly inaudible on the concrete sidewalk.

"So I gathered. Does this mean you're ready to admit that whatever is going on here isn't _just a drill_?"

Mason's shoulders tense slightly. The reaction is almost imperceptible, and the streets are so dark that it's possible I imagined it. But for a brief moment, it reminds me of my training, of days spent studying body language and human nature at the academy and then I know that Mason's response was real: I am right, that alarm means something has happened.

"Mase," I call after him. "Just tell me what's going on."

He turns his head toward me, "I told you, I'm not sure."

"You seemed pretty sure of something when you bolted out of that warehouse like a maniac," I tell him, still walking briskly beside him. I say a silent thank-you that we're no longer running at breakneck speed to w\the medical center.

He laughs, despite whatever is happening. "A Code Red -"

"Intruders," I say, cutting him off. "You said that it was probably a drill, or that it could mean intruders, you told me that already."

"Sounds like you've got it all figured out then," he says, turning down an alley.

I find myself wishing that it was lighter outside so that Mason could see me roll my eyes at him. "We both know there's something you're not telling me. What kind of intruders? How would they have triggered that alarm? The fact that there's even an alarm system in place means Portum Lux also probably has more sophisticated defenses in places, how soon would they have detected something was wrong?" I stop, realizing that the more I talk, the more questions I come up with.

"I can't believe Tatiana thought you were stupid," he mutters.

I blink back surprise. "Thank you," I pause, considering. "I think."

"I don't know what kind of intruders," he admits. "A code red is just a general warning, and the alarm isn't triggered by the intruders, it's sounded by whoever is monitoring our defenses at the time. If the alarm wasn't manually sounded, then anything could set it off - like a squirrel or something, and we can't risk that kind of exposure."

"Cameras then?"

"Yes, we have cameras. And as you put it, other more sophisticated measures are also in place."

We stop in front of a door that I recognize as the entrance to Portum's medical center. "I see," I say, though I'm only partially satisfied with his answers. "And why are we here instead of..." I pause, realizing Mason had never told me what our intended destination was when we left the warehouse. "Is someone hurt?" I demand. It's the only explanation I can come up with for why Mason was told to report to the medical center.

"It's possible," he says, opening the door for me. "But I'm the captain of the guard, when that alarm sounds, it's my job to find and secure certain members of the counsel."

We begin climbing the narrow steps of the medical center.

"Great," I seethe. "You mean Tatiana."

Mason doesn't need to answer me, because she's waiting for us at the top of the stairs. Her pencil skirt matches the bleached white strands of her hair and the stark walls behind her, and her annoyed expression probably matches my own. A part of me had been wondering if she had somehow been injured and that's why Mason's orders had changed, but aside from the permanent scowl and her typical haughty demeanor, she seems to be fine.

"Captain," she says curtly, and I feel Mason stiffen beside me. "And Rosemarie, good, I'm glad your here." I might have thought she was trying to tell a joke if I didn't already think she was incapable. "Now I don't have to send someone after you."

"What's the situation?" Mason asks before I can snap back at her.

She turns to Mason, seeming to forget me completely, like she can't be in the same room with me unless she puts up blinders and pretends I'm not there.

"Someone made it past the northwest perimeter, a John Doe," she says, turning sharply on her heel and walking down the corridor, knowing that Mason and I would follow without having to be told. "He was practically inside the city before he was detected." She seems to be speaking more to herself than to either of us. "One of the patrols found him unconscious right outside the border."

"Unconscious?" Mason asks. "Why issue a code red warning over that?"

"Because," she says, coming to a halt outside of a sealed metal door. "Until he wakes up, we won't know who he is, how he found us, and if he was _working_ with anyone." Her words are suddenly directed right at me.

"What are you trying to insinuate?" I manage to grind out. "I had nothing to do with this."

Tatiana pulls out a key card and swipes it across the sensor mounted on the wall next to the door.

"And neither did my friends," I add, and even as I defend them, the doors part to reveal Lissa and Christian, standing alone in a viewing gallery.

A part of me is glad she's here, at least I know where she is in the middle of this giant mess. The other part of me hates the idea of her being on the receiving end of Tatiana's pointed questions.

"Good," she says to no one in particular as she strides purposefully into the room. "I was worried I would have to hunt you both down as well."

Mason and I squeeze into the gallery behind her, but I can't quite see through the glass on the other side of the room.

"Now, someone had better start talking."

Christian clears his throat and gestures to the glass behind him and Lissa. "See for yourself."

Tatiana's walk is brisk as she approaches the glass wall without hesitation, but for all her bravado and strength, her mouth still falls open at the sight of whatever or whoever waits on the other side of it.

"My god," she breathes. "Is that - "

"Victor Dashkov." It's Lissa who finishes Tatiana's thought for her.

There are moments in life where it seems like time has stopped completely - the seconds are no longer ticking by and everything is still.

This is not one of those moments. It feels like the world - my world - has been turned completely on its head, that it's spinning so violently out of control that I could be sick.

Victor.

The intruder is Victor - the man who tortured me, the man who held a knife to my throat. I remember very little of our escape from the compound, but I know that the feeling of Victor digging his fingers beneath my skin is not one I will forget any time soon.

I don't need to see for myself, Lissa's expression is the only confirmation I need that it's him.

"I asked you a question." The voice belongs to Tatiana, and I open my mouth to tell her that I usually stop listening whenever she speaks, but I realize that she's talking to Lissa. She also appears to have tuned Tatiana out. "How is it that you know him?" she asks.

Lissa and Christian exchange conspiratorial glances and in that moment I know that she has told him about Victor. An entire silent conversation is taking place between his sharp blue eyes and her cunning green ones.

"He's my uncle," she says, not looking away from Christian.

Tatiana leans closer to the window, her breath fogging the glass as she asks with as much reluctance as I've ever seen her display. "Your Robert's daughter?"

This time Lissa does look at Tatiana when she answers. "My father's name was Eric." Her voices cracks a little as she speaks his name, a name I don't think I've ever heard her say out loud.

Tatiana squints at Victor. "I didn't realize Victor had more than one brother. Tell me, why is it that he didn't arrive with you? And why is it that no one thought to tell me that he would be joining us?"

When no one answers, Tatiana finally turns away from the viewing gallery to look at the four of us. Mason and Christian each look as though they want to melt into the wall and I can't say that I blame them.

"Well?" she demands.

Mason looks to me and then to Christian, but both of us are now staring at Lissa.

"You didn't realize Victor had a brother? What?" asks Lissa, completely ignoring Tatiana's questions. "How do _you_ know him?"

Tatiana's lips purse in annoyance, but to my surprise she answers Lissa. "It's not every day that the RPD dispatches investigators to the provinces. I make it my business to know exactly who is on their radar and why, one of our people on the inside was able to get us his file and I recognized his photo."

Everyone seems to accept this explanation, and I might have too, if I hadn't been the investigator that had been dispatched. I remember the details of the Dashkov assignment with perfect clarity - I remember having to locate Victor based on reports of his hair and eye color.

"You're lying," I tell her, taking a small step in her direction. "There was no photo on file for Victor Dashkov. You recognized him the moment you saw him - that means you know him from before the Pulse."

Tatiana's eyes glint with hatred. "It seems I have underestimated you, Miss Hathaway. But I suppose this all makes more sense now, you were the one originally assigned to the Dashkov investigation, weren't you?"

"How do you know him?" Lissa demands once more, moving to stand beside me, and I find that I am immediately comforted by her proximity.

Now that I'm closer, I can see Victor lying on the other side of the sheet of thick glass. He looks as if he's been on the cusp of death for days and I can hardly believe he made it all the way to Portum Lux. Lissa's eyes are locked onto the heart monitor, watching the red line as it moves across the screen in peaks and valleys: the only sign that he's still alive, still pulling air into his wretched lungs.

Tatiana turns her back to us, her hands folded resolutely behind her back, seeming to realize she won't be getting any information out of us. "The scientific community was relatively large before the Pulse, but it was still a small world. People with similar vocations and interests always gravitated toward each other, even back then. Victor was a brilliant man, though he tended to focus more on education than anything else if I remember correctly." She turns her head slightly so that she can see us out of the corner of her eye. "The man I remember always did have a soft spot for teaching."

"I doubt the man lying on that table is anything like the one you remember." Lissa spits out her words like poison.

Tatiana doesn't seem to register Lissa's emotion, her apparent distrust of the man she has just admitted is her uncle.

"We shouldn't keep him here," says Christian brushing past Lissa and joining Tatiana at the window. "He's dangerous."

Tatiana lets out a huff. "He's unconscious is what he is, and if he wakes up, then he is valuable."

I can hear Lissa grinding her teeth together in disgust.

"Captain," says Tatiana, turning away from the rest of us. "Head down to surveillance, have them release a statement over the com that the Code Red was just a drill and that everyone's performance will be evaluated accordingly."

I turn to see Mason nodding his understanding.

"That's it?" I ask, whipping back around to face Tatiana's pointed expression. "You're just going to lie to them?"

She moves past me without even blinking. "Until I get a full explanation of what is going on here, there is no point in telling the civilians what has happened here tonight. I want the two of you in my office tomorrow morning." I can only assume she means Lissa and me.

Tatiana's icy gaze sweeps over the room one last time, her mouth and jaw set in a perfectly straight line. Her expression is blank, but I can practically feel the friction of her thoughts and her fears as they push their way to the forefront of her mind. She is afraid, and I know it's for the people of Portum Lux, for this world she has been trying to build - this little pocket of protection.

"Mr. Ozera," she says, stopping just before the doors. "I trust this will not delay your mission?"

Christian blinks several times, as if trying to focus on the question Tatiana has just asked him. "No," he says, clearing his throat. "I don't see why it would, everything will proceed as planned."

Lissa is still staring at the glass, though I'm not so sure she is looking past it. I wish I could go to her, even if I don't know what I could say to make her feel any better.

"Good," says Tatiana, nodding curtly. "Rosemarie, Vasilisa, I will see you both tomorrow. Mr. Ozera, please escort them back to their room and see that they don't leave it."

She sweeps out of the room without another word, Mason trailing after her.

…

Christian does as he's told and walks Lissa and me back to our suite in the Duval. No one bothers to speak on the way there, each of us lost in our own thoughts, each of us trying to give the other space. When we get back to the room, we're all unsure of what to do and so we settle for glancing at each other awkwardly.

"Well," says Christian. "You should both get some sleep, I'll be back in the morning to make sure you don't miss your meeting with Tatiana."

"I'm going to take a shower," says Lissa, ignoring Christian completely, but she's already halfway to the bathroom when she does and she shuts the door before either of us can respond.

Christian, looking a little wounded, grunts at me instead of saying goodbye. I debate whether I should check on Lissa, but I decide to wait until she's had a moment to process what's happened. Instead, I listen for the sound of running water before slipping out of the suite and into the hallway.

"Christian," I hiss, barely loud enough for him to hear me. "Christian, wait!"

His pace slows to a halt and he waits for me to catch up with him. "What?" he asks, not bothering to turn and face me. "I didn't realize you and I were back on speaking terms." He resumes his walk.

I glance toward the far end of the corridor, to where the red light of the security camera blinks at me. "Only temporarily," I tell him, keeping my eyes trained on the door to the stairwell.

"And only because you want something," he drawls, managing to sound both disinterested and annoyed at the same time.

But I don't scowl, I don't snipe back at him. I wait until we reach the end of the hallway and he gestures for me to follow him into the stairwell.

"Well," he says, folding his arms across his chest. "What is it?" His voices bounces off the stone walls, reverberating down to the concrete floor waiting seven stories below us.

A door slams shut on another floor of the building and I eye Christian warily. "Not here." I doubt that Christian would want to risk being overheard when I ask him my question.

Christian throws his hands up in frustration. "For the love of - " he stops, sighs and then turns toward the flight of stairs leading upward. "Come on," he grumbles.

We climb until we reach a metal door with a rusted handle. When Christian tries to open it, his hand comes away dusted with flakes of metal and paint. He frowns and wipes his hand on my arm. Before I can swat him away, he moves to throw his shoulder against the door and it swings open more forcefully than Christian had probably intended, clanging against the wall behind it. The sound makes my teeth rattle.

The door opens up onto the roof of the Duval, which is littered with tarnished patio furniture and crumbling piles of concrete.

"You have sixty seconds," he says, turning to face me once I've shut the door behind us. His arms are tightly folded across his chest.

I decide not to press my luck with Christian and dive right in. "What was Tatiana talking about when she asked if Victor showing up in Portum would hinder your mission? What mission is she talking about?"

"Classified," he says, managing to sound immensely pleased with himself and bored all at the same time.

I can feel heat rising up the back of my neck, a sure sign that this conversation will probably end with me trying to shove Christian off the roof of the Duval.

"Christian," I grind out, barely contained rage filling up every syllable. "What is the ad Salvum doing? And why would Tatiana have to make sure that Victor didn't mess it up?"

"You know for someone who claims they're not an investigator, you sure ask questions like one," he tells me pointedly.

"I may not be one of them," I say, taking a step toward him. "But that doesn't mean I don't remember what they taught me." A deadly calm has settled over me, blanketing the anger that still lurks beneath the surface of my words. "You're trying to change the subject."

His crystal blue eyes narrow as he studies me. "What are the chances of you letting this go?" he asks after a moment.

"If you don't tell me, I'll just go find Mason."

I don't need to elaborate, an unacknowledged certainty hangs in the air all around us: we both know that Mason would tell me whatever it is that Christian is hiding.

"Fine," he says, raking a hand through his already mussed hair. "Go find your boyfriend, better he betrays Portum secrets than me." He steps toward the door but I move to block his path.

"How about you save everyone the trouble, and just tell me about the mission right now."

He backs away from me, pinching the bridge of his nose in exasperation. "You are without a doubt the most stubborn and obnoxious person I have ever met." He plops down at the very edge of the Duval with his legs dangling over the side.

The sky is bruised in shades of black and blue as the very beginnings of dawn creep across the night.

"I could say the same about you," I mutter, choosing to remain standing behind him.

Neither of us speaks for a long while and I wonder if he intends on telling me what I want to know, or waiting me out.

"It's a raid," he finally says with a sigh. "A few times a year we try to raid the NAAMA rehab camps, try to get as many people as possible out of there."

I play his words over several times in my head, and even after I have, I still don't believe them. The council had barely agreed to let us stay when we had come stumbling into the city, covered in rags and nearly starved to death. I was a little insulted that Christian expected me to believe that the council would actively risk its own soldiers and civilians to seek out and rescue the inhabitants of a rehabilitation facility.

"Why?" I ask, the word sticking in my throat, I don't want to come across as hesitant as I feel.

Believe nothing, question everything, doubt the intentions of your fellow man. Those are the sentiments of an investigator, the kind of reasoning that I used to wear like armor, but now I wish I could shed like skin.

He grabs at a handful of rubble. "Those rehab camps are filled with people that NAAMA deemed to be too dangerous; scientists, teachers, little kids whose parents taught them that the world is made up of atoms." His last few words are hateful, and he throws a fistful of dust and debris into the air. "We get some of our best recruits from those camps."

That explains it.

"How noble of you," I say, sounding only slightly disgusted as I crouch down to sit beside him, though maintaining a safe distance from the edge of the building. "Drag them out of one crazy camp so that they can come here and live in _this_ crazy camp."

"Why do you have to do that?" he asks, reaching for another handful of stones and pebbles.

"Do what?" I ask, beginning to fiddle with the ends of my hair.

"Twist everything that we do here. I just told you that Portum regularly conducts rescue missions and you still make us sound like the bad guys. We're _not_ the bad guys, Rose." He throws one of the stones.

My hands drop into my lap. "No one ever thinks of themselves as the bad guy. It's all about perspective, everyone wants to believe that they're doing the right thing, but most never consider whether it's the right thing for everyone."

He swivels around to look at me. "Sounds like you've given this a lot of thought."

I shrug. "It's the only explanation I can come up with for how the world ended up the way it did. Someone, somewhere thought this was the right thing to do. I keep trying to rationalize NAAMA, to understand how people could let this happen to them, to their families..."

Christian laughs softy, sadly. "How's that working out for you?"

"Not great."

We both sit in silence for a moment, each of us relishing the fact that there is no sound, no light - just calm, open air. There is nothing quite like the hush that falls over the world when it becomes caught between the late night and the early morning.

"I'm sorry, by the way, for earlier - in the stairwell." His words are strained and I can't help but wonder if it's because his apology is disingenuous, or because he's not used to saying those words in that order. "I didn't know about your parents. If I had -"

"Don't," I say sharply. "Don't say you would have done something differently."

Christian's features tighten in something that could be remorse, something that could be guilt. "I like to think that I might have." There's something in his words, in his voice, in the inflection that makes me think that there is more, that he is silently begging me to dig just a little deeper.

But I don't ask.

I can't.

Thinking about what I would do differently if I could go back, knowing what I know now, won't change anything. And when I think about the events that led to this moment, to why I made the choices I did, it fills me with an inky black hatred of the person I was. It took discovering that my own parents had been killed by the RPD for me to realize that there was something horribly wrong with NAAMA.

I hadn't been willing to react to the pain I knew the rest of the world was feeling until I had been forced to feel it for myself. We shouldn't have to be able to relate to a situation in order to recognize that it's wrong.

I squeeze my eyes shut, searching for something else to talk about, to think about.

"Mason mentioned that you still have investigators and other personnel working undercover, do they assist with the raid?"

Christian's head falls to one side. "To an extent, but only to provide some basic information - guard rotations, transfer orders, that sort of thing. We don't want to risk exposing them."

"Eddie's one of them." I'm not sure why I say it, but I can't help but wonder about him - if he's safe, if Portum Lux will pull him out of active duty the way they had Mason.

"He was your partner, right?"

I nod feebly.

"He's not far from here, at the Atlanta facility."

"They transferred him to the Southeast?" I ask, slightly stunned.

"Right after you went rogue. Command thought there was a chance he might try to help you, but they couldn't prove it so they just sent him South."

I lower my back onto the concrete and stare up at the few remaining stars, cursing myself. In all of my planning and scheming, I had never considered what repercussions my actions would have. Eddie could have been killed for what I had done.

To my surprise, Christian follows suit and lays back beside me. "What is that called?" He asks, pointing to the sky. "Is it the North star?"

"I don't know," I tell him simply. "Lissa would probably know."

"Did Victor teach her?" he asks, his tone a little softer.

At first I nod. "Yes," I say, after realizing Christian can't really see me. "He taught her everything she knows."

"And then he betrayed her," says Christian, the softness of his voice hardening almost instantaneously.

"He betrayed her a long time ago, and then he lied to her about it."

"I don't suppose you're going to elaborate on that?" he asks, mildly curious.

"Even if I wanted to tell you that, which I don't, I would never get all the details right - it's her story to tell."

He lets out a deep breath. "Fair enough." He pauses before propping himself up on his elbows to ask, "What about Belikov, what's his story?"

"Well," I say, getting quickly to my feet. "This has been lovely, but I'm sure Lissa has noticed I'm gone by now and you should probably get some sleep."

Christian laughs, sounding genuinely amused for just a moment. "I haven't slept in years," he tells me and the weight of his casual confession presses down on my chest. The shadows under his eyes are a near perfect reflection of the purpling sky above us and I know that he isn't lying. "You go," he says, waving me away. "I'll come find you if his condition changes."

"Thanks," I tell him, turning toward the door.

"Rose," he calls, and I peer over my shoulder at him, still laying among the debris. "Don't be too hard on yourself. You actually are one of the good guys."

 **Hey everyone, long time no see! (or like I guess long time no read? idk) I know it's been a little while, but now that it's summer time and all I have to worry about is work, I'm gonna try and have a more regular updating scheduling. I have like four ongoing stories right now? But most of my attention is focused on this one, and my other fic To Forgive and Forget (if you haven't read it, it's the Bloodlines series told from Rose and Dimitri's POV, it's pretty neat) Realistically, I should be able to alternate updating those stories each week. Please please please let me know what you think!**


	15. Chapter 15

_**Vasilisa -**_

" _ **Love each other dearly always. There is scarcely anything else in the world but that: to love one another."**_

 _ **Victor Hugo**_

When I emerge from the bathroom, I am only slightly surprised that Rose has left. Steam billows out after me, warming the suite a few degrees. I had felt completely numb since leaving the medical facility, and I hoped that the hot water from the shower would bring some of the feeling back into my limbs, but I still feel dazed as I crawl beneath the blankets of mine and Rose's bed.

 _Victor had made it to the Havens._

Did he know that I had made it as well? Had he been searching for me all this time?

A million questions are swirling around in my head like a maelstrom, and I would no doubt have to try and answer those same questions tomorrow during my meeting with Tatiana. I pull the blankets up over my face, trying to block out the outside world.

The door opens a few minutes later, and Rose creeps onto the bed beside me a few minutes after that. I had grown used to sharing a bed with Rose, including the way she tossed and turned, occasionally smacking me in the face.

Neither of us says anything at first, each unsure of what the other is thinking.

"What do we do?" I whisper.

The bed creaks as Rose turns on her side to face me. "About what?"

"The meeting with Tatiana, what do we tell her?"

Rose scrunches her face up. "The truth, whatever it takes to get her to realize that he's dangerous so that when he wakes up, she'll kick his ass out onto the street. We can't risk her letting him stay here."

"You don't think she would really let him stay?" I ask, though I think I might already know the answer.

She turns over to stare at the ceiling. "Probably. She let me stay, she let Christian stay."

"You're nothing like him!"

She blinks rapidly, her lashes fluttering under the pale glow of the lamplight. "I'm dangerous too, Liss. Maybe not in the same way that Victor is, but still dangerous, and the council had to let me stay because of what I know. The same could be true for Victor."

I take a deep breath in through my nose and wonder if it made me a horrible person that that a part of me hoped Victor wouldn't survive the night.

"It will be okay," she assures me. "He's not getting near any of us."

I offer her a meek smile, knowing that she means it, but also knowing that it might not be possible for her to keep that promise.

...

The next morning, the sound of Christian Ozera banging on the door wakes me up, but the racket barely seems to rouse Rose.

"You're both ridiculous," he says, coming into the suite without an invitation. "Why aren't either of you up yet?"

Rose jolts awake, her hair looking as if a bird has used the dark strands to forge a nest on the top of her head. "Please leave," she says, flopping back onto the bed. She snatches the feather pillow from under my head and presses it over her face, as if it could shield her from Christian's wake-up call.

He strides up to the foot of the bed and yanks on the blanket, but Rose, probably having anticipated his next move, is clinging to it for dear life. I sit stunned in the bed next to her, too bleary-eyed and tired to fully register that I am currently witnessing a blanket tug-of-war take place between two former NAAMA soldiers.

"Rose," I croak. "Come on, we have to go see Tatiana, remember?"

Her only response is a disgusted groan.

"Actually," grunts Christian, still pulling hard on the blanket. "She had to cancel."

Rose releases her hold on the blanket without warning, sending Christian sprawling onto the ground. "Why?" she demands.

"Something came up," he says, not bothering to mask his annoyance.

"Then why are you here?" I ask.

Christian gets slowly to his feet. "You have to go to school," he says. "And that little demon spawn next to you has training. Now get dressed." He strides out of the room, rubbing his backside scornfully.

The moment the door slams shut behind him, Rose and I erupt into a fit of giggles. "I can't believe you did that," I say, shaking my head and smiling to myself.

"He deserved it," she says, rolling out of the bed and onto her feet. She grabs a pair of pants off of the ground and yanks them on. "I wonder why queen snotface cancelled."

I freeze. "You don't think it has something to do with Victor?"

The light mood from a few moments ago dissipates almost instantly at the mention of his name.

"I don't know," she says, a little forlornly. "But I'm going to find out."

She finishes getting dressed and makes for the door. "It's going to be okay," she reassures me again. "I'll come find you when I figure out what's going on here."

I nod my understanding and she leaves without another word.

…

I hate school.

All of the civilians are acting as if nothing has happened, as if there wasn't an alarm blaring from every speaker last night, and then I recall how Tatiana had told Mason to pass the Code Red off as a drill.

Dimitri and Adrian were both assigned seats on the opposite side of the classroom, and based on their easygoing expressions, it's clear that they have no idea what happened last night either, no idea that Victor is lying unconscious in a bed in the city. They both flash me smiles and wave before sitting down in their respective seats.

The curriculum is fine for the most part. The only lessons I struggle with are the ones about forced natural selection, survival of the fittest, and others that Professor Sage manages to make sound like prejudiced rhetoric.

When I was a little girl, I had always dreamed of sitting in a classroom like this one; desks filled with people who are eager to learn, a blackboard full of equations, and a teacher who has dedicated his life to the pursuit of knowledge, but now that I'm here, every clichéd warning ever uttered is currently beating tiny metaphorical fists against the inside of my skull.

 _Be careful what you wish for, never meet your heroes, blah, blah, blah._

But this is not the environment I had wished for, and Professor Sage is not the noble scholar I had always wanted to learn from, Portum Lux is not a haven and nothing in this world is what I had hoped it would be.

I might start listing disappointed as one of my personality traits.

When we are finally released for the day, it feels like my brain might explode and I practically run out of the classroom. There had been moments throughout the day when learning had reminded me so much of Victor that it made me want to throw my chair out the window.

When I reach the green field that forms the perimeter of all the old university buildings, I walk straight toward the ruins of the library Christian had shown me. The hatch has been left open, but to my relief, no one else is here.

Despite the dust and the gloom of the forgotten library, I am strangely comforted by this place, like I am finally surrounded by own kind. The thought that I might be more like a book than like my classmates is both terribly funny and terribly sad. But I know it's true, know that you could crack open my spine and trace your fingers down the center like a binding that threads my world together – my years like words bleeding from one page to the next. Each new indentation marks a new paragraph, a new thought, a new experience that serves as unwavering proof of my survival.

I plop down in front one of the shelves and lean against it. My head feels swollen with fear and anxiety, and it's too much for my neck and shoulders at the moment. My hand falls on a stack of books left in a heap on the ground beside me and I pull one randomly from the pile. When I hold the book up to examine it, I find the title glaring back at me in gilded letters - _Paradise Lost._

I fight the urge to scream.

Victor had always loved the classics, and since practically everything written from before the Pulse had been destroyed, my only exposure to them had been limited to what he could recite from memory... _The mind is its own place, and in itself can make a heaven of hell, a hell of heaven..._

Despite all that he had done to me, to Rose, to my parents, I found that I was, in a wretched way, still grateful for his lessons. In a world where ignorance is the preferred standard of living, each concept I master and every piece of information I soak in becomes a tiny coveted spark of life, a million burning candles that I must fight to keep burning.

I let the book fall to the pile, not wanting to be reminded of Victor, and of the fact that he is in the city. I pull my knees against my chest, wrapping my arms around them and contemplating how long I could stay in the library until someone came looking for me. I know that I probably don't have long, that Rose will come looking for me soon. She has been doing her best to give me space, to let me find a way to process this, and I know she hates that she can't protect me from Victor's presence.

I let my head fall forward, wondering what I had ever done to deserve a friend as fiercely loyal as Rose Hathaway.

"I thought I would find you here," calls a voice from the bottom of the stairs, but it doesn't belong to Rose.

My head snaps up, banging into the shelf behind me. "Hi," I wince, rubbing the back of my skull.

Christian strolls toward me in that lazy, arrogant way of his, his hands shoved into the pockets of gray sweatpants. The closer he gets, the more obvious his exhaustion becomes. I hadn't noticed how drawn his features are earlier. He lowers himself onto the ground, sitting crisscross beside me.

"Your shirt is on backwards," I tell him, though I keep my gaze trained on the dusty floor beneath us.

Out of the corner of my eye I see him glance down at his chest. "So it is," he says, sounding mildly amused. "I've had a rough couple of days."

He moves beside me and I finally let myself look up, just in time to watch him pull his arms inside his sleeves.

A laugh escapes me, but it's been so long since I've had a reason to laugh that it comes out strangled. "You look like a turtle."

He twists the fabric around so that the V of his T-shirt is facing forward. "A very handsome turtle," he insists, struggling to poke his arms back out through the sleeves.

I roll my eyes, though I'm still smiling. "Yes," I concede. "A very handsome, and very _humble_ turtle."

The corners of his mouth quirk up. "I don't think anyone has ever called me humble before."

"Yeah well, I don't think anyone has called you a turtle before either, so there's a first time for everything."

He pulls down on his shirt, trying to smooth out the wrinkles, but seems to give up when he looks up and says. "Rose is looking for you."

I let out a short breath and look away once more. "I figured."

"Are you hiding from her?" he asks.

"No," I say quickly. "I just...I needed to be alone for a little bit."

"I see," Christian says, sounding hesitant. "I can go then, I'll tell Rose you're alright."

Before he can rise to his feet, I clamp a hand down on his wrist, "Wait," I scramble, trying to find a way to explain that I don't want him to leave without sounding like a desperate little girl. "How is he?" I ask. "How is Victor?"

Surprise registers on his face for a brief moment before he lowers himself back onto the ground. "There's been no change," he says quietly. "Sydney think it's only a matter of time before he..." his voice trails off.

"Dies," I say flatly, finishing his thought for him.

Christian nods.

"What happens if he wakes up?" I ask, twisting around to face him.

He rakes a hand through his dark hair, "I'm not sure. Tatiana thinks he's valuable."

"She's not wrong," I tell him bitterly. "He's brilliant, Portum would be lucky to have him."

"Last night you told me he was a monster," he says, not unkindly.

"A person can be both."

Christian seems to recoil at my statement. "Lissa," he says after a moment. "Can I ask you something?"

My heart flutters beneath my ribs like a caged bird. "Sure," I tell him, trying to sound casual.

"Yesterday, you also mentioned that Victor had tried to hurt Rose," he fumbles for the right words. "You said that he tortured her."

He seems to choke on the word _torture_.

My brows furrow in confusion and consternation. Rose had never told me directly that Victor had tortured her, just that he had interrogated her, but when I think back to the injuries she had sustained during our escape, it's the only logical conclusion I can come to.

"He interrogated her," I tell him slowly, "Victor had gone to the Provincial Guard and warned them that we would try to leave the compound, it was after the whole Lone Star Facility fiasco, and so Rose and Dimitri already were already fugitives. He sold us all out, and we wouldn't have made it, but Rose stayed behind, she bought us time…and they took her."

Christian swallows. "And that's when Victor interrogated her?"

I nod. "I've seen Rose fight, and even with her injury, there was no way she went quietly, I know she fought and probably reopened her stitches, but Christian," I say, my mouth going dry. "When we got her out of there and I saw her shoulder, it was…it was completely ravaged, like someone had tried to peel apart her skin."

Christian has gone completely still beside me, his jaw clenched and skin the color of white marble.

"Oh, Christian," I say, moving to rest a comforting hand on his arm but he flinches away. "I'm so sorry, Rose told me about the training at the academy, about what they made you all go through; I didn't mean to bring up bad memories."

He turns to look at me, and all of the cool confidence that I normally associate with Christian is gone, replaced by genuine horror. "She told you?" The grief in his voice grates against my nerves.

"She said that you all had to… _practice_ on each other, that you had to learn what it was like to teeter at the edge of your breaking point so that when the time came, you could push others past it."

His head falls forward, cradled in the palms of his scarred hands. "Did she tell you it was me?" he asks, his voice almost inaudible.

I hear his words, but I don't comprehend them, not immediately.

"What?" I ask, hoping that I had somehow misunderstood him.

"It was me," he says, louder, gruffer. "I was her instructor."

And suddenly I'm back in the council chamber, on the first night we had stumbled into Portum Lux, covered in rags and half-starving to death, and all I can see is the look on Rose's face when she had first noticed Christian. I thought she had been scared he would rat her out, tell Tatiana that she wasn't a civilian.

I had been stupid, so stupid, for not realizing that her fear of Christian ran much deeper than that.

Now I think about the webbing of white scars on her back, mapping out every lesson the military had ever seen fit to teach her, scars that Christian had given her.

My knees are knocking together in anger and disgust as I try to scramble to my feet and away from Christian. He doesn't try to stop me, he doesn't even look up.

"How could you?" I demand, clinging to the nearest bookshelf for support. "How could you do that to her?"

"I had to," he says, finally lifting his head but refusing to meet my burning gaze. "It was my job, it was the only life I had ever known, we were taught that it would make us stronger," he's rambling, grasping at straws and explanations, anything to ease the guilt that coats his words, his expression, his shaking, blood stained hands.

I take a deep, ragged breath, trying to keep the anger bubbling up in my throat from escaping in the form of a scream. And even as I look at him, knowing what he had done, I am trying to rationalize it.

Rose had told me that for every scar she had on her back, she had dealt out three others just like it. They had done this to each other, instilled with the notion that in order to make others talk, they had to know what it felt like to bleed with the truth.

 _How is Christian any different from Rose?_

I grip the sides of my head, my temples pounding as I tried to make sense of this world, of these people in my life. Who am I to judge what they had done in their pasts – what they had done to survive?

"Have you _talked_ to her about this since we've been here?" I ask, a cold, furious calm settling over my face.

"Yes," he rasps out, still cowering on the floor. "We're both trying to come to grips with what we've done, both trying to figure out if we can come back from it."

I suddenly feel exhausted, and I slide to the floor, though I am now several feet from where I had been earlier – sitting next to Christian, telling him that his shirt was on backward.

"Has she forgiven you?" I ask bleakly, realizing that I was not the one Christian had hurt, I was not the one who bore the marks of Christian's handiwork. A darker part of me wondered if Christian wore Rose's.

"I don't know," he says weakly. "I don't know how she could, and even if she did, I wouldn't want it."

"Why not?"

"I don't deserve to be forgiven, for what I did to her, and all the other recruits. If living with the guilt of the pain I've inflicted is the only punishment I ever get, then I got off easy." His tone has taken on a harsh edge, and I know that his words are meant to do harm, but not to me.

I glance over at him, the shell of the boy I had thought he was.

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you sooner," he says, his voice raw and sincere.

"It's kind of a hard topic to broach," I say darkly. "But I'm not the one you should be apologizing to."

"I have apologized!" he says, a little louder than before, and the fierce Christian I have come to know flickers into existence for a brief moment.

I narrow my eyes at him, studying his expression, searching for any sign of dishonesty in his features, and then I remember who he used to be – an investigator.

 _Just like Rose._

Would it be completely hypocritical of me to not try and understand Christian the way I had come to understand Rose?

I can't answer that, not yet, not right now. I need to let his words sink in, and in the meantime, I decide that since Christian is feeling so truthful, I have a few questions of my own.

"What's the Purge?" I demand.

His eyes widen in surprise. "Excuse me?"

"You heard me," I snap. "The Purge. What is it?"

He takes a shaky breath, but I know that I could probably ask anything of Christian, and he would give it to me. "There's no going back," he says quietly. "If I tell you this, you can't un-know it."

"Quit stalling," I say, not bothering with niceties.

"A long time ago," he says slowly. "Even before the Pulse, Natasha was a Foreign Services Officers, very influential, well-liked by everyone she met. She was charming, beautiful, and she made powerful friends very easily."

"What does this have to do with the Purge?"

"Everything," he says solemnly. "The Pulse, it was her."

My heart stutters in my chest like a failing engine.

"That's impossible," I say quickly. "She's a tyrant, but she's the one who reformed NAAMA."

"She's a savior!" he exclaims, though obviously disheartened by his own words. "She was power-hungry, and what better way to take control of a nation, then when it's at its weakest? It was almost too easy. The people saw her as their salvation, she was a hero, the one to pull NAAMA from the ashes of the Pulse, and they never knew that she had been the one to set the fire." He glances at me, gauging whether he should continue with his story.

"Go on."

He clears his throat. "She couldn't do it alone, obviously. That kind of wide-spread attack, it was unprecedented. She had to bring a lot of people into the fold, politicians, figureheads…scientists. Some of them knew what her plan was, and others she had lied to and manipulated. The Purge came after NAAMA had been formed, but right before people understood what they had contributed to. She had them all killed to prevent her secret from getting out."

Silent tears have started to slide down my cheeks. I had always known that the things the Executor had done were despicable, but I had been able to justify it in my mind, because I had thought she truly believed that she was doing the right thing.

"She didn't stop there, though. She extended the campaign to anyone who might figure out what she had done, and she created the Risk Prevention Department to do it."

"Tatiana knows," I breathe. "That's why she was so scared when Rose told her she knew about the Purge."

Christian nods, his expression grave.

"When did you find out?"

He shrugs, "Not long ago, I always had my suspicions, and when they were confirmed, I stole all the information on the Havens I could get. Everything led me to Tatiana, and together, we founded Portum Lux."

"Why were you suspicious?" I ask, my fists clenched in my lap.

"Aunt Tasha had always told me that my parents died in the Pulse," I flinch at the words _Aunt Tasha._ "A part of me never believed her."

"Christian," I say, all the anger I had felt earlier melting into grief. "You don't mean…"

He swallows hard. "The Purge started with Lucas and Moira Ozera. They knew, I don't know how, but they knew what she had done, and they died for it."

I want to scream.

Christian is just like me in the same way that he is just like Rose. We are all connected by this shared tragedy that has stripped this world of humanity, that has stripped us of our families. I lean my head back against the shelf so that the tears no longer streak down my cheeks, but fall onto the floor so that the salt mixes with the dust.

"Tasha told me that the military would be the best thing for me, and so she sent me away. The one person I had thought would take care of me after my parents died sent me away, and when I did see her, she would go on about how she had taken me in out of the goodness of her heart, out of the love she had for my parents."

The pile of books I had been thumbing through earlier lies in a heap between us, and one by one, I move them away and slide myself closer to Christian.

"Before Rose, and even before Dimitri and Adrian, Victor was all I had," I tell Christian, sounding unmistakably heartbroken. "And now, every night I lay awake and wonder how many times he lied to me, how much of my own childhood was real, if he ever loved me…because I loved him, and that's probably the worst part - that I think I still love him, or maybe I love the man I thought he was, and it makes me hate him and I can't see how that's possible." I don't care that hot angry tears have continued to pool in my eyes, I don't care that Christian can probably hear the hurt in my voice. I used to think that crying made me weak, but I realize now that it doesn't make me any more or less breakable. We are all entitled to our emotions, and if someone can look at salty tears and shaking hands and call that weakness then I am sorry for them. I am sorry that they can't understand what it is to feel so deeply and love so fiercely that we sometimes succumb to those emotions.

"I know," he says, his own voice seeming to soak up some of my pain.

The words are simple, he doesn't tell me that he's sorry, for which I am grateful because we too often apologize for things we didn't do.

"I know," he repeats.

Christian knows what this kind of betrayal feels like and I realize that all I had wanted and needed was to be understood.

What happened to him doesn't excuse his actions. Bad things happen to good people all the time, and it's up to those people to choose what to do about it. I don't forgive Christian, even though his sins aren't exactly mine to forgive, but I do understand, or at least I want to try to understand him.

He sits before me, in sweatpants and with his shoe laces untied - this person I hardly know – an investigator, an Ozera, he is all of those things, and none of them all at once.

 _He knows, he understands, he cares._

And just like Rose, he struggles everyday with the person he had been, and the person he wants to be. It would be easy to hate him, I could learn to do it, but it would be even easier to let myself feel what I already do.

I pull my legs beneath me so that I am resting on hands and knees and I lean toward him.

"What are you doing?" he breathes.

"Shh," I tell him, reaching out one hand and resting it on his cheek.

He goes rigid at my touch, his breath hitching and I become acutely aware of my own ragged breathing. My hand slides to his jaw, he hasn't shaved in days and his skin is rough and hot beneath my palm. I raise myself up on my knees and my other hand comes up to rest on the nape of his neck, where wisps of inky black hair brush against my fingers. For once I don't feel the need to avert my eyes, they are locked on his.

"I'm going to kiss you," I tell him quietly, not caring that my entire body is trembling.

His eyes go wide in bewilderment, but he nods, almost imperceptibly.

I know how kissing works, I had kissed a boy back at the compound once - it had been sloppy and awkward and Adrian had teased me for months afterward.

But kissing Christian was not like kissing Aaron.

It was familiar and warm - like I had pressed my lips against his a thousand times. His arms rose up to wrap themselves around my waist and it felt like coming home, like I had gone away and then stumbled back into his embrace, weary from weeks of travel. And I knew right then that I didn't need four walls and a light bulb to feel safe, and that the Havens weren't a place, not really - they were a feeling; they were laughing with a friend, they were smiling at strangers when you passed each other on the street, they were that feeling in your chest when you held the person you loved.

I had spent the last few weeks miserable and alone, homesick for a person I didn't know I needed.

His hands twist themselves in the fabric of my shirt, and he pulls himself to his knees so that our chests are pressed together. I would give almost anything to make time stop, to spend the rest of my life in that library, surrounded by books and by Christian.

He pulls away slightly, and his lips, a little swollen, are arranged in a wide smile that seems out of place in the darkness. He laughs when he notices that a few strands of my hair have gotten stuck in the stubble on his jaw but he doesn't brush them away. Instead he kisses me again, and I can still feel his smile and I can still taste the salt from my tears and I can still hear my heart thundering in my chest - I can feel everything all at once.

We break away, each of us flushed, each of us biting on bottom lips to conceal smiles.

For a brief moment, we had been able to forget. We had just been a boy and a girl, not two broken people struggling to accept their pasts and move forward with their futures.

"Why did you do that?" he asks, sounding dumbfounded, but also like he wants to smack himself for asking.

"Because I wanted to." It's a simple answer, but it's also the truth.

"Fair enough," he concedes.

We both sit there a bit awkwardly, still on the floor in front of the bookshelf, and I wonder if Christian is also trying to think of a way to just stay down here forever.

"We should go back," I say finally. "I don't want the others to worry."

He glances down at his watch, frowning. "It's a lot later than I thought it was. They're probably in their rooms by now. Come on, I'll walk you back."

When we emerge from the library, night has fallen and we have to pick our way carefully across the city. We walk in silence, but with our hands clasped together in solidarity. My head swims with what he had told me, with images of the Executor and of the fire she had created to burn down the world.

But the kiss is there too, and I cling to the feeling of his hand in mine.

..

He walks me to my room, and leans in to whisper good night, and to kiss me one last time.

I slip into the suite, wondering what on earth I am going to say to Rose. My eyes search for her, but the room seems empty. Something moves into the corner of my eye and I turn toward the bed and spot a mass of dark hair peeking out from the pile of blankets. I kick off my shoes and turn down the lights, wondering if Rose had accidentally fallen asleep with them on, or had left them burning on purpose.

She lets out a sharp breath and I worry for a moment that I have woken her, but her eyes are still closed. She's shaking, her hands balled in fists and her expression warped with panic.

I kneel down beside the bed, "Rose," I whisper, "Rose, wake up."

She shifts away from me, but doesn't wake. I reach out a hand and push her hair away from her face. "Rose," I speak a little more forcefully.

She shoots up without warning, nearly knocking me to the floor. Her eyes are dark and wild, the brown having been swallowed whole by her pupils and her chest is heaving.

"Lissa," she gasps, noticing me by the bed. "Liss, I'm sorry, I was having a - "

It's okay," I say shaking my head. "I get them too."

She nods her understanding, her head bowing slightly in shame.

"Do you want me to go get Dimitri?" I offer, already rising to my feet.

"Will you just, just stay here?" she asks, almost pleading.

I answer by way of crawling onto the bed next to her. She scoots over to make room for me, though not much. I have accepted that Rose prefers to sleep in the middle of the bed and that there is nothing I can do about it.

"What do you dream about?" she asks me in a whisper.

I pause, considering her question. "I don't know," I tell her truthfully. "I don't usually remember."

"I didn't used to dream at all," she tells me quietly. "But now, now I close my eyes and every twisted thing in this world gets played on a loop in my head."

We are both lying on our sides, facing each other. "You're safe," I say, reaching out for the hand she has tucked beneath her chin. She nods, but I can tell my words have failed her. "Do you know what I do?" I ask. "When it all feels like it's too much?"

"No," she says simply.

I think about all the long nights I had spent curled up on my narrow bed in the housing unit, trying to keep the nightmares at bay. Rose had given me her lantern, she had been the one to help me, my own personal lighthouse, and now I would be hers.

"I count. I start at 100 and I work backwards and I don't focus on anything but the numbers, one after the other."

Her dark brows knit together in disbelief. "Try it," I insist.

"100," I say."99, 98."

"97," this time she says it with me.

And we count, together, and her breathing gets a little easier with each number, until it slows all-together and we fall asleep, hands still clasped between us.

 **Hi guys, I don't usually like to use this site as anything other than a way to share my stories, and I in no way view it as a platform for pushing my opinions on my readers, that being said, I live in Florida. Orlando is about an hour away from my house and I have a lot of friends who are students at UCF. Two of them died last Sunday. I am not asking that your pray for them of for their families, we all react to tragedy differently and prayer isn't for everyone. We will all be affected by what happened differently. This little message is just about being there for each other, it's about acceptance, and if any of you ever need to talk about something, whether it's about school or your family, anything, I am here. We might be strangers by definition, but I'd rather just think about you as a friend I haven't met yet. Stay safe and always remember how very precious you are.**


	16. Chapter 16

_**Rose -**_

" _In the flush of love's light, we dare be brave. And suddenly we see that love costs all we are, and will ever be. Yet it is only love which sets us free."_

 _Maya Angelou_

Portum Lux is starting to feel like being at the academy all over again.

Eat, sleep, fight, repeat.

Yet for all of the schedule similarities, training with the ad Salvum is vastly different from the Risk Prevention Department. The soldiers tell jokes, play pranks, we had even conspired to dump a cooler full of ice water over Mason's head at the end of last night's drill series.

I had yet to regain full control of my injured shoulder, but Mason has been working with me on the side to learn to fight around it. Now I hardly notice it when we spar. It has made me rethink my strategies, reinvigorated me, and now I can feel myself getting stronger everyday.

During today's break Mason and I had decided to remain in the warehouse while the rest of the ad Salvum went to the Duval for lunch.

"Come on," says Mason, beckoning me toward him. "I know you're still recovering, but just try to hit me."

Mason's new favorite hobby is to tease me relentlessly while we spar to try and get me to slip up, and he always knows exactly which buttons to press to get me there.

I tune him out, keeping my arms boxed in front of my face, dancing back and forth on the balls of my feet.

Mason makes the first move, faking left and then attacking right but I'm ready for it. I spin to the side, feeling very much like the fluid fighters I had seen in the ring on my first night of training. I strike hard with my right and he moves to block it, but in doing so he completely misses the left hit to his gut and he doubles over. From there, it only takes a quick combination to knock him on his ass.

"When you're done _recovering_ ," I say tauntingly. " _You_ can try to hit _me_."

I turn my back on him, still grinning wickedly, when I hear the sound of light footsteps - faint, but still unmistakably there. I pretend not to notice and head toward the edge of the ring, hoping it looks like I'm just getting water.

Mason's chest suddenly slams into my back, his arm wrapping across my neck. I hear him whoop with satisfaction... _he actually thinks he's caught me off guard_ , but his celebration is cut short when I grip his arm and use his own momentum to flip him over and onto his back. He let's out a groan, his eyes squeezed shut but still only looking mildly irritated.

"Nice try," I say, standing over him with my hands on my hips. "I told you it was only a matter of time before I caught up with you, you can't beat _the_ Rose Hatha-"

Mason's swift kick catches me behind the knees and my legs sweep out from underneath me. I land hard on the ground next to him with a resounding thud, wanting to laugh but not having the breath to do so.

"You suck," I gasp out.

I can feel the ground rumble beneath me as Mason laughs, "I'm sorry, I forgot I was sparring with _the_ Rose Hathaway, I panicked."

I prop myself up on one elbow and use my other arm to try and smack him in the face, hardly noticing the twinge of pain in my shoulder. Mason catches my wrist before it can make contact with his jaw, pulling me on top of him, and then rolling us so that I am pinned between the ring and his stupid, satisfied, smug little mug... _I am going to wipe that look off his face with the bottom of my boot._

"You can't win," he says, breathing hard from the exertion and from laughing. "I'm just too good, I'm sorry it has to be this way."

I raise my brows in amusement, "I know where you sleep, _Captain._ Don't think I won't play dirty."

"I'm intrigued," he says, a little more playfully than before.

Someone clears their throat loudly.

"Is this how you train all the new ad Salvum recruits?" Christian draws from the edge of the ring. "I didn't realize you were such a _hands_ _on_ instructor. We're so lucky to have you." Sarcasm coats every word, but he still somehow manages to sound bored.

Mason's cheeks flush to match his hair. He scrambles to his feet and then reaches down to help me off the floor.

"What do you need?" Mason asks, not meeting anyone's gaze as he brushes the dust off his arms and legs.

Christian shrugs, "Who said I needed anything?"

Mason scoffs, "We both know you wouldn't have come near this warehouse if you didn't have to."

"Fair," replies Christian, wrinkling his nose as he looks around at the dirty training equipment. "I'm touched by how well you know me." He splays a hand across his heart dramatically, his lashes fluttering.

"Oh my god," I say rolling my eyes and stomping across the ring toward Christian. "What are you doing here? Is it Victor?"

Christian goes rigid almost instantly.

It's been six days since Victor had been discovered, unconscious and nearly dead on the outskirts of Portum Lux. There had been no change, and it has put everyone on high alert since then. Sydney, who had started joining us for dinner in the dining hall, had admitted that it was driving her insane that they hadn't found a way to wake him up. It went unsaid that it is unlikely that they ever will. Even the resources in Portum Lux are limited.

Dimitri had been furious that he hadn't been brought to the viewing gallery with Lissa and me on the first night, but his anger had dissipated when he realized that it didn't really matter now. We are all waiting to see what happens, all in the same boat, the one we've been trying to bail water out of for weeks now - the one that feels like it's perpetually sinking.

Christian shakes his head, "No, Tatiana wants to see you."

"No thanks," I say, turning back toward Mason, "Come on, we still have a few hours to train before dinner."

"Rose," says Mason, sounding apologetic but I already know what he's going to say. "You should go."

"You're both acting like puppies," I say, throwing my arms up in the air. "Always doing whatever your mistress tells you; when she says _come_ you both go off running with your tongues hanging out of your mouths."

"I like puppies," says Christian, not seeming to have heard the rest of what I said.

"Who doesn't like puppies?" agrees Mason.

I look between the two boys, baffled. "I hate both of you." I hop down off the ring and begin walking toward the exit, Christian and Mason trotting after me.

"Does this mean you're going to listen to me and go see Tatiana?" asks Christian, who at least has the good sense to stay a few paces behind me.

"Nope," I tell him, kicking open the swinging doors of the warehouse.

"You can't _not_ go," says Mason, following after me.

"And why not?" I demand, my voice echoing off the stained walls of the hallway. "She's cancelled our stupid little meeting four times now, if she wants to talk to me, she can walk her wrinkled ass down here."

Neither of them responds, they both know I have a point. Tatiana _had_ cancelled on Lissa and me four times since Victor had been discovered, and without offering any apology or explanation.

"I don't think this is about Victor," Christian says, sounding serious for the first time.

"Then what is it about?" I snap, kicking open the second set of doors that leads to the streets of Portum.

"Where are you even going?" asks Mason before Christian can answer.

I veer hard to the left. "To find Dimitri."

If Mason wasn't going to train with me, then I wanted to use what little spare time I was given to be alone with Dimitri. Time and space are hard to come by in Portum Lux, and we're lucky if we can find even a few minutes to ourselves.

"He's still in school," says Christian. "And besides, you have to go see Tatiana."

This halts me in my tracks. "If Dimitri is in class, that means Lissa is too, Tatiana wanted to speak to both of us."

"Exactly," answers Christian. "I don't think this has anything to do with her or Victor."

I bite down on my lip, considering. "Fine," I concede, my curiosity getting the better of me... _what does she want with me now?_

He let's out a nearly inaudible sigh of relief. "Thank you."

Christian and I part ways with Mason, the two of us making our way toward the old capitol building while Mason returns to the warehouse. We fall immediately into our usual comfortable silence, neither of us feeling compelled to annoy the other with small talk or questions we don't have answers to.

There had been a time when I had hated Christian, hated what he represented, hated what he had done to me, and then I had hated him because I knew he was just like me. But hate can be a hard emotion to sustain, its a fire that must be actively fed, and I had found that my dislike of this boy had burned out long ago.

That didn't mean I trusted him though, but I had to wonder if that was through his doing, or mine. To this day, I could count the number of people I did trust on one hand.

"So..." I say, trying to sound casual, and not like I'm gearing up to ask something that has been weighing on my mind for days now.

"What?" he asks, his tone immediately defensive.

"How is Lissa doing?" I ask, letting my features slip into a smooth mask of indifference.

He tenses beside me, but his pace never falters. "She's fine, I don't think she likes the classes though, Sage Senior can be kind of an ass, but the people seem to like her. Which isn't that surprising. Wait…" he pauses, realizing that he had been talking without thinking. "Why are you asking me that? Don't you two share a bed?"

We do actually share a bed, but that is hardly the point I'm trying to make to Christian.

I fight the urge to scream A-hah! Instead, I say. "I knew it!"

Christian visibly jumps at my revelation. "Knew what?" he winces.

I stop, yanking on his arm so that he does too. "You like her," I hiss.

He makes a series of disbelieving noises. "Don't be ridiculous," he finally says, folding his arms across his chest.

"You're the one who's being ridiculous," I say, jabbing a finger at him. "It's so obvious."

Christian opens his mouth to retaliate, his blue eyes blazing with...embarrassment?

"I am very sure I have no idea what you're talking about," he says, turning on his heel and walking down the sidewalk.

"I take it back," I say, following after him. "You're not a puppy, you - you're a man-sized child! I can't believe you won't just admit it!"

They have been spending more and more time with each other, and when they aren't talking or eating meals together, I can usually catch him silently brooding over her.

"I am not talking to you about this," he says through gritted teeth

"Fine," I huff, struggling to keep up with his long strides after four hours of hard training. "You don't have to talk, just listen."

"I don't think I want to do that either," he mutters under his breath.

"There's something you should know about Lissa," I say, ignoring him.

He turns his head slightly, trying not to look intrigued or concerned, but he's still practically running away from me. "What's that?"

"You don't deserve her." I say matter-of-factly. "I mean, I can't really fault you for being interested. She's beautiful, smart…"

"And caring, and sincere, and fierce," he says, sounding as if he has already loved and lost Lissa. "Don't you think I know that I don't deserve her?" His pace has finally slowed, and his shoulders slump forward as if he were suddenly very tired. "I knew it the moment I saw her. I also knew that I was so completely and utterly screwed, because I will never look at anyone the way I look at her, and that I'm good enough to do even that."

Christian's words claw at something in my chest. I know what that kind of despair feels like.

I had been so prepared to give Christian a stern talk, to warn him that I would snap his neck if he even thought about hurting her, but it's clear that he is powerless when it comes to Lissa.

"I thought she knew that too, knew that she could do better," he continues, cracking open a little wider. "Especially after I told her the truth, I thought she would hit me or hate me or both." We move to skirt around a pile of rubble that has eaten up part of the sidewalk.

Lissa had come to me a few days ago, asking strange questions about my past, but mostly about my training with the Risk Prevention Department. When I had refused to answer her, she admitted that Christian had told her about what he had done to me, and that she was confused. She didn't understand how I could even look at him, that she didn't know how she should feel about him. She had all but confirmed my suspicions that they had feelings for each other.

I hadn't known how to explain that Christian isn't the one I hold accountable, couldn't explain that if I blame him and hate him for the things he did for the RPD, then I am just as culpable. We are two sides of the same battered coin.

"But she didn't do any of those things," he says, almost wistfully, as if he had left his body and was somewhere else completely.

We reach the doors to the capitol building and I let out a sigh. "You sucked the fun right out of me threatening you."

Christian chuckles. "I guess you can still threaten me if you want, maybe tell me that if I hurt her you'll punch me in the face or something." He pauses to hold the door open for me.

"If you hurt her, I'll chop your balls off." I pat him twice on the cheek and stride past him into the gilded corridors of the capitol building.

…

I had forgotten how much I hate being in Tatiana's office. Despite the fact that it's on the top floor of the building and that there are giant windows facing every direction, it all feels too close, the air too stuffy.

She sits behind her oversized desk and gestures for me to take one of the stiff looking seats across from her. When Christian turns to leave, she clears her throat more loudly than was probably necessary.

"Mr. Ozera," she says in her high, cold voice. "Please join us, this concerns you as well."

Christian looks almost as annoyed as I feel. He sits down in the chair next to mine, his expression a chiseled mask of indifference that I do my best to replicate.

"I'm afraid I have some unfortunate news," she says solemnly, folding her hands under her chin.

I fight the urge to exchange a questioning glance with Christian, but he doesn't even flinch. "We've just received word that a large number of our covert agents have been exposed."

Christian sucks in a breath. "How many?"

Tatiana shakes her head forlornly. "We don't have an exact number, it's hard to keep track of where our people are assigned. We don't control that, the NAAMA military does and trying to keep such close tabs on them is too risky."

The air has grown even closer, thickened with tension.

"Christian," she says, shifting in her seat to face him more directly. "Did Castile ever give you a headcount for the number of agents we had planted at the RPD's Atlanta facility?"

His dark brows furrow as he tries to recall, "No, Castile was transferred to that facility recently, I'm not sure he even knew that there were other covert operatives there."

My heart feels like a battering ram, beating against my ribs so loudly that I'm sure Tatiana and Christian must be able to hear it.

Tatiana's expression darkens. "Then we have even less to go on than I thought. Based on what little chatter we've been able to pick up, we've been able to discern that parts of our undercover operation in Atlanta have been discovered, but we have know way of knowing how many men and women were stationed there and how much they know."  
Christian's head falls forward, his hands clenching the armrests of his stiff leather chair.

"Eddie is in Atlanta," I breathe, but neither of them seem to have heard me.

My partner, the one who I had lied to and then abandoned, who I had gotten transferred to the Atlanta Facility, he would surely be executed for this treason. I feel as if I'll be sick all over the plush carpet of Tatiana's office, but I swallow back the dread that mixes with the bile in the back of my throat.

 _Be brave._

 _Be brave for Eddie._

"We have to go after them!" I say, this time more forcefully.

I wait for Tatiana to snap at me, to tell me that a rescue mission is out of the question, but she merely nods her assent.

"The situation is unfortunate," she starts off. "But...timely."

Christian raises his head slowly toward her. "How so?"

"The RPD won't keep our people in Atlanta, the higher-ups will have to move them somewhere more secure."

"The Lonestar Facility is the nearest NAAMA military structure capable of holding double-ops," says Christian, the gears in his head whirring as a plan forms. "That's where the RPD will take them."

"Agreed," says Tatiana firmly. "We probably have a 16-hour window to intercept them, it takes time to get those kind of orders and move that kind of cargo."

My head is swimming and I am suddenly grateful that I am not standing.

 _16 hours._

"That's not enough time," says Christian, pressing the heels of his palms against his eyes. "The raiding party is leaving tonight, we've been planning it for months."

I had forgotten about the mission Christian was leading against one the Southern Rehabilitation encampments.

"We will not be calling off the raid," says Tatiana.

"I can't be in two places at once!" Frustration is rippling off him in waves.

"That's why I have asked Ms. Hathaway to join us," she says pointedly. "Is it true that you successfully broke into and fled the Lonestar Facility?

I don't tell her that I probably wouldn't use the word _successfully_. Dimitri and I had barely made it onto that train with our lives. "Yes," I say, swallowing back my doubt.

"Then it seems the time to prove your worth is at hand," she says, rising from behind her desk. "The raiding party will leave as scheduled, Mr. Ozera. You and your men will head South to the camp. Ms. Hathaway, you and Captain Ashford will assemble a small team and head North to the Lonestar Facility, I trust that you will know what to do when the time comes."

Everything suddenly clicks into place and I understand why Tatiana had said that the agents being exposed now had been timely. "You're coming at them from two sides, if one group fails - it will distract NAAMA from the other."

Tatiana nods and turns her back on both of us. "It's the best we can hope for, you're both the others only protection." Her shoulders are slightly hunched, and I am reminded that as fierce and hard as Tatiana comes across, she is still aging. Her many year serve as a testament to the fact that she has seen and lived through the most catastrophic event this world has ever known, and is still fighting to make it better.

Christian and I rise from our chairs and follow Tatiana toward the door. Adrenaline has started coursing through my veins, and the familiarity of it is welcome.

 _I can do this._

 _This is what I have trained for_.

Tatiana turns to look at me. "I should warn you," she says, sounding suddenly burdened with fear. "This situation is unprecedented, the Executor has always been aware of the unrest among the civilians...but for there to be such widespread insubordination in the ranks of her soldiers...she is going to take this betrayal very, very personally." The adrenaline has turned, like souring milk, to terror. "It is very possible that she will see to this matter herself."

I nod my understanding. Even though I had grown up in the academies, I had never actually seen the Executor in person. The thought of confronting her has knocked the air from my lungs.

 _I have to go back to the Lonestar, to the place that had nearly killed me._

 _I have to confront the Executor; the woman who had shackled the world_

 _I have to save Eddie.; the partner I never deserved._

I don't say any of this out loud. In fact, I have no idea what I should say to Tatiana, I'm not even sure if _goodbye_ is appropriate.

"Fac fortia et patere," whispers Tatiana, bowing her head slightly in our direction.

Christian repeats the phrase, his Latin flawless, and I barely manage to stumble through the words before we both leave without another word.

"What was that?" I ask.

He turns, his blue eyes a reflection of the tempest raging in my own heart. "Do brave deeds, and endure."

 **Hey everyone! Thank you all so much for your kind words and reviews, they always reinvigorate me, every time I get an alert I want to start working on the next update to see what you all think. I am kind of on a roll right now because we've reached a few chapters that I've had written since before I even finished** _ **Pulse**_ **. It's been a little slow-going but I really wanted to focus on the characters and to build their world. I cannot wait for you all to find out what I have planned!**


	17. Chapter 17

_**Vasilisa -**_

" _But you can't make people listen. They have to come round in their own time, wondering what happened and why the world blew up around them. It can't last."_

 _-_ _Ray Bradbury_ _,_ _Fahrenheit 451_

Someone is yelling my name.

Her voice is a mixture of fear and excitement as she calls out for me. The dusty copy of _Paradise Lost_ that I had been trying to force myself to read falls to the floor of the library and I scramble to my feet, straining to hear where the voice is coming from.

"Lissa!" Rose comes flying down the narrow stairs that lead below the surface of the rubble and skids to a halt when she reaches the bottom. "There you are," she pants.

She's still wearing her training gear - black sweatpants and a knotted up T-shirt, stained with sweat and dried blood, she looks exactly as she had this morning at breakfast, but the eerie feeling that something is off still skitters along my bones.

She strides toward me, her dark hair swinging in a ponytail behind her. "Christian said I would probably find you down here."

I'm suddenly grateful that the library is too dimly lit for Rose to see the heat that creeps along my neck and jaw at the sound of Christian's name. We had been meeting in the library every night since the kiss, using it as a small sanctuary - a Haven that we had created for ourselves.

Rose seizes my wrist and begins moving back toward the stairs, "Come on, we need to find the others." There is something chaotic about her movements, her voice.

"Rose, wait," I say, trying to pull my arm away. "What's going on? Is Victor awake?"  
 _Is he dead?_

She turns to me with an exasperated sigh, "We don't have time for this, nothing about Victor has changed."

She's trembling.

"Then what _has_ changed?"

A small impatient noise escapes her lips. "It's a long story, and I don't have a lot of time. Portum Lux has people working undercover in the NAAMA military, and a group of them were discovered and are being transported to the Lonestar Facility."

I can feel the blood drain from my face instantly, my blush from earlier turning to pale marble. I already know where this is going, but I ask her anyways.

"What is the council going to do about it?" I ask quietly, my hands balled in fists at my sides.

"Mason and I have put together a team of ad Salvum guards, we're going to try and intercept our people before they actually reach the facility," she says, trying to sound calm but her words are edged with a terrible anticipation.

My jaw clenches, teeth grinding together and I wait for the tears to come, but I have been hollowed out from top to bottom.

"Have you forgotten what happened the last time you tried to pull off this kind of stunt at that facility?" To both of our surprise, my tone is angry and bitter, but I am helpless to stop the words that erupt from me like lava. "You were unconscious when Dimitri brought you back to the compound, so maybe you don't - but _I_ do. You nearly died, Rose! He brought you to me, bleeding and I had to sew you back together, I had to put a needle through your skin and force a piece of leather into your mouth so you didn't bite your own tongue off - and then I had to do it again! I can't keep watching you rip yourself apart to save the world!"

My eyes are open, but they aren't focused on anything but the way Rose had looked with her pale limbs splayed out on the metal table. I can still remember the exact way my hands had slid over Dimitri's stolen NAAMA uniform and come away stained red with her blood.

Rose's dark eyes are lit with rage and she takes a step closer to me. "Where would we be if I hadn't done those things?"

I grab at her hand, "Dead, we would be dead. I know that Rose, I know we owe you everything and that you did those things to make sure we were all safe." My anger has dissolved into desperation as I tug on her hand. "You don't have to do this, you don't have to go, we made it - we're safe, you've done what you needed to." I don't care that I am frantically pleading with her, I would get on my knees and beg if it meant she would stay. "Please, you don't have to be the one to do this."

She pulls her hand away and I look down at my own and remember the way I had pounded them against the iron compound gates, screaming her name, how I had tried to pry them apart with the tips of my fingers, only to have my nails torn away.

"Lissa," she says, trying to be gentle. "I _do_ have to be the one to do this. I'm the only one who's been inside the Lonestar before, I'm the only one who can save those people."

"But you can't save them!" I insist, some of my fury from earlier returning.

She takes a deep breath and I know she is trying to keep from snapping at me, "I know the odds aren't great, but Mase and I can do this."

Rose is a fighter, and even if she hadn't grown up in the military she would still be one. She's an oil spill, and all it takes is a single spark to set her ablaze.

I can only think of one way to put out the fire, and I hate myself for it.

"Maybe he can," I spit, and the words taste like poison. "But you can't. You're a liability, Rose, you're not the same girl you were when you went into the Lonestar the first time, you're not strong enough any more." I watch as her features shift from a forced serenity to a barely contained rage. "Sydney _lied_ to you, you're not going to get better, you're broken, and it will only put the rest your team in danger, if you want to help them then stay here."

As soon as I speak the words out loud, I wish I could take them back. And maybe it would have been worth it if they had made a difference, but I know instantly that my feeble attempts have only added more oil to the fire.

Her face cycles through a series of emotions in a matter of seconds - disbelief, realization, hurt, and finally - betrayal.

"You're lying," she hisses. "I've been training for weeks now, I've been fighting - "

"Mason has taught you to fight around your injury," I say desperately. "Think about it, have you ever trained with anyone else in the ad Salvum?"

Rose's bottom lip has started to tremble "It's not true." Her voice falters for the first time and she shakes her head wildly.

"We were trying to protect you," I whisper, and I know right then that that is the wrong to say, know that I am a wretched human being for not telling her the truth and then trying to wield it like a weapon to force her to stay.

"Who's _we_?" she demands. "Did Mason know?"

"No," I tell her weakly. "He was just following Christian's orders."

"What about Dimitri?" she asks, though her expression tells me a part of her doesn't want to know the answer.

I shake my head. "Just me, Sydney, and Christian."

"Right," she says, struggling to stay composed. "I'm leaving now, and I think it would be a bad idea if you tried to follow me."

She turns her back on me, and I feel a small tremor in my chest. "Rose," I plead. "Wait...I'm sorry."

She barely turns her head to say, quietly, tragically. "So am I."

…

I'm not sure how much time passes, not sure how long I stand in the library, dripping with self loathing, before I finally make my way up the stairs of the library. The sun has already started to dip below the horizon, and the sky is bruised with a deep purple. Once I regain control of my legs, I force myself to sprint across the overgrown fields of the campus and the deserted city streets. I run right up to the steps of the Duval, my lungs searing with pain as I try to gulp down air.

 _I have to find Rose, I have to take it back, to tell her I'm sorry, ask her not to go - and at the very least, tell her to be careful - tell her goodbye._

I rush past the elevator, and weave my way through the crowded tables of the cafeteria - full of people who have know idea that something is wrong. My thighs, my lungs, my tear-filled eyes all burn as I climb the stairs of the Duval, until I reach the right floor and then I am sprinting down the hallway toward our room.

My thundering heart plummets at the sight of Adrian sitting in the corridor, his back against the door and his head cradled in his hands. I fall to my knees in front of him.

"Adrian!" It's all I can manage, and that one word alone is enough to send pain shooting through my chest.

My hands grip his shoulders and I shake him until he finally lifts his head. His green eyes are rimmed with red and his hair looks as if he has been trying to rip it from his scalp.

"Where is Rose?" I gasp. "Have you seen her?"

He blinks rapidly, blinking as if he were trying to snap a new version of reality into place. "They're both gone," he tells me bleakly.

My hands tighten on his shoulders. "What do you mean both?" I demand, my fear overcoming the lack of oxygen. "You mean Mason, right?"

Adrian shakes his head. "Dimitri."

My whole body goes slack.

 _Of course Dimitri had gone._

He knows Rose.

And he had been able to see that there isn't a thing in this world that would have kept her from trying to rescue those people; had realized that the only way he would be able to keep her safe is if he were right there next to her..

I pull myself up next to Adrian, our shoulders slumped together. "What did they tell you?" I whisper.

He lets his head fall back into his hands again. "Rose came and found us, she was going on about some ad Salvum mission, kept saying that she had to save Eddie - whoever that is, and that she didn't have a lot of time," he mumbles, the words barely discernable. "Dimitri and I didn't really get it at first, but then she said she was going back to the Lonestar, and that was it."

Adrian doesn't have to elaborate, I knew that the mere mention of Rose breaking into the Lonestar again would be enough for Dimitri to volunteer.

Dread is pooling in my chest at the thought of them going back to the Lonestar, my head clouding over with the dark truth that there is a real chance that one, or both of them won't come back.

I can't remember what the last thing I had said to Dimitri was, and worse still, the last thing I had said to Rose had been meant to cut her down, to convince her to stay.

My legs shake as I force myself to my feet.

"Where are you going?" Adrian asks.

"We can't just sit here and do nothing." I tell him, though my voice lacks any strength, and I know it's because I don't have any. I am powerless - but Christian isn't.

I turn away from Adrian and start walking toward the stairs. "Where are you going?" he asks again.

"To find Christian," I tell him.

Adrian hesitates before saying. "He's gone too."

I'm not sure how I manage to remain standing as Adrian explains that two missions were dispatched; that if Portum Lux comes at NAAMA from multiple fronts, they'll have a better chance of success - that should one fail it will serve as a distraction, and the other will be more likely to make it back.

My heart is caving in on itself, but I somehow put one foot in front of the other until I reach the roof of the duval.

I recall how Christian had looked the first night I had seen him here, perched on the edge of the roof, smiling, not seeming to mind that the fall would kill him, and I had thought he would probably look just as carefree even if he were sitting on the edge of the world.

My legs finally give out, weighed down by the exertion from running and my own grief-stricken heart.

 _He was supposed to meet me in the library_.

That's why I had been down there, because we had spent all of our nights trembling and sighing and swearing we each belonged to the other - _he was supposed to meet me._

Now he is gone.

They are all gone.

And I have no way of knowing if they will come back.

…

I stay on the roof all night, watching the sky change from black, to blue to purple and pink and finally - a pale orange. My eyes areswollen and red from the lack of sleep, but I hadn't even attempted to try. Despite the emptiness of my thoughts and feelings I had known that I would never be able to rest, not until…

 _Until what?_

 _Until you know they're safe?_

 _Until you know they're dead?_

I'm pressing my palms against my eyes, trying to suppress more tears when I hear shouting. I nearly tumble over the edge of the Duval as I scramble to peer down at the people who have gathered on the steps below. I squint my eyes at them, trying to see past the film of exhaustion - _they're hugging_. Cries of joy float up to the roof, and it jumpstarts my heart.

Adrenaline and fear and hope are the only things that keep me going as I stumble back down the stairs and across the lobby of the crumbling old hotel and throw myself against the double doors. I burst onto the front steps and I am immediately swallowed up by the waiting sea of civilians..and soldiers, I realize; their uniforms gleaming in the early morning light. But when I push my way to the middle of the crowd, I notice that there are also a few people I don't recognize. They are all thin and covered in rags, wearing dazed expression.

"Lissa!"

Someone shouts my name and I whip around in desperate terror, not sure who I'm hoping the voice belongs to.

"Lissa!" The voice is closer, and soon, Mikhail has pushed his way toward me.

"Mikhail," I say, trying not to sound disappointed. "What's going on?"

"The ad Salvum raided one of the southern rehab camps, they just got back!" He's beaming, but his smile falters when he finally takes in my appearance.

He looks me up and down, and when his kind eyes reach my face, something behind me catches his attention. His world seems to have been swept out from beneath him, and he walks past me slowly, as if he were moving through water.

"Mikhail!" I whirl around at the woman's sharp cry.

Someone is shoving their way past the moving bodies, and then, where once there had just been Mikhail - there are two forms.

"Sonya?" Mikhail asks, sounding wrecked with hope and disbelief as he wraps his arms around a woman with auburn hair.

Her name hits me like a slap in the face - _Sonya Karp_

She had been my teacher back at the compound - a kind, but strict woman, until she had disappeared. But now Mikhail and Sonya cling to each other as if they were the glue that held the universe together, both of them laughing and crying and shaking.

I turn away, my chest aching so badly that I want to double over, to fold myself up again and again until I disappeared completely. But I force myself to keep moving, to keep searching. If the raiding party is back - then that means Christian has to be here somewhere and I refuse to let myself think otherwise.

I move among the crowd of joyful civilians and soldiers and refugees like a ghost - hoping to catch a glimpse of black hair, searching until I finally have no choice but to accept the facts.

Christian has not come back.

 **Okay so don't hate me, and don't hate Lissa - all of the characters in this story are flawed as hell (and I apologize if this seems OOC to you and I'm happy to explain my thought process behind all of this if you want to PM me) I promise that the next update will explain what's going on.**

 **Also, I know I've been kind of on a roll with the updates, but as I'm sure you all remember, when school starts I basically disappear. So to try and avoid that, I was thinking about trying to find a beta reader? Someone to try and just keep me on track and help me with editing/drafting. Let me know if that interests you at all (keep in mind that you would have to occasionally be mean to me because I can be super stubborn and lazy)**

 **Which brings me to another thing, I had someone ask recently if Haven was the last installment - it's not.** _ **Awake**_ **will be the third and last installment, so I would need a beta who also wants to help me flesh that out because as of right now it's a giant mess.**

 **Let me know what you think/if any of this interests you and happy reading!**


	18. Chapter 18

_**Rose -**_

 _Cowards die many times before their deaths; the valiant never taste of death but once._

 _William Shakespeare_

I am broken.

Even as I help the ad Salvum guards load our military transport with ammunition and assault rifles, I am replaying Lissa's words in my head. Even as I stow a duffle fag filled with military-grade explosives, I can still hear her tell me that I am a _liability_ , and even as I look around at Dimitri, Mason, and the three other guards chosen for this mission, I can't help but wonder if Lissa is right.

I shake my head, trying to loosen the grip that Lissa's confession has on my nervous system.

Mason has a map of NAAMA spread out on the driver's seat of the transport. He and Dimitri are doing their best to plot the probable course of the Atlanta prisoner transport, and to calculate how much time we have to intercept it. Both of their brows are furrowed in concentration, and I watch as Dimitri nods at something Mason is saying.

 _Am I putting my friends in danger?_

I lift another duffel bag into the back of the transport, this one is filled with medical supplies but my hands are shaking and a few spools of gauze and bottles of antiseptic spill out onto the floor of the garage where Portum stores its limited fleet of vehicles.

I shove the supplies back into the bag, cursing my distress while silulatanelosly reminding myself that even if Lissa had been telling the truth, even if I am _broken_ , I am still the best chance this mission has.

I'm the one who found a way into the Lonestar facility, the one who stole protected records from the NAAMA government, the one who escaped with a wanted prisoner in tow.

 _You're not the same girl you were when you went into the Lonestar the first time._

I suck in a deep breath and realize that she is right - that even though I have been forced to put on my old uniform and my red belt, I am a million years ahead of the girl who went into that facility. That girl was weak and uncertain, she had nothing to fight for.

Now, there are things - people - I would fight until my last breath for.

Once the supplies have been safely stowed beneath the bench, I turn to tell the others that we should leave, but instead I manage to walk straight into someone's chest.

"Roza?" Dimitri asks. I have to crane my neck to meet his gaze, immediately registering the concern etched all over his face. He has the map clutched in one hand, dotted with color-coded trajectories and small calculations scrawled in the margins. "Are you okay? You're shaking." He folds the map carefully and slips it into the back pocket of his jumpsuit and reaches out to brush a strand of hair behind my ear.

Dimitri is wearing the jumpsuit we had used in our escape the first time, and the sight of him wearing NAAMA black and Investigator red makes my skin crawl.

"I'm fine," I assure him, but the response is forced. "Well, as fine as can be expected" I amend.

He still looks skeptical. "You don't have to do this."

I peer around him, looking for a way out of this conversation. Mason is talking animatedly with the rest of the team and doesn't look as if he'll be coming to my aid any time soon. "Why does everyone keep saying that? I told you, I'm fine. Besides, I _do_ have to do this, but it's not too late for you to back out."

My words aren't meant to sway him, to convince him to stay behind - I know he's just as determined as I am, I had only meant to distract him - and it works.

The fine lines of his face and his jaw harden, his dark eyes narrowing in concentration. "You're crazy if you think I would let you step foot in that place without me."

Despite where we are and what we're about to do, despite everything - Dimitri still manages to make me smile - even if it is just a faint curling of my lips. I'm suddenly overwhelmed with a desperate need to fling my arms around his neck, to bury my face in his shoulder, but now is not the time.

"Are we ready?" asks one of the ad Salvum guards.

Mason had mentioned to me earlier that his name is Grant, and that Tatiana had insisted on designating one team member to accompany us. He seems like a capable fighter, but I can't keep myself from wondering why Tatiana had requested that he go on this mission.

Dimitri and I turn toward the jeep, assessing our supply of weapons and ammunition before I say, loud enough for everyone on the team to hear me. "It looks like everything is accounted for - time to roll out."

"Croft" Mason says, addressing one of the guards he had chosen for the mission. "You'll be our fearless driver."

Hans Croft nods stiffly in Mason's direction - a man of few words but fiercely loyal to the cause. Croft's defection from the academy as a former instructor is one of the more gossiped about stories among the ad Salvum. He had been Mason's first choice and had agreed to sign on even before he knew the details of our objective.

"The rest of us are in the back, now let's get going - we're burning daylight," Mason pauses, considering. "Or is it moonlight?"

The entire party gives Mason a collective eye roll before piling into the jeep, but I can tell that we are all silently grateful to the Captain for trying to ease the tension.

I take a seat in the far corner of the vehicle, and Dimitri somehow manages to fit his massive frame onto the bench beside me. Our transport is a decent size, with room for three in the front, and eight more in the back, which consists of two benches that line the walls of the vehicle.

His leg brushes up against mine, and I am instantly comforted by his presence. Dimitri had not hesitated to volunteer to be my way into the Lonestar Facility the first time, even when I had told him that it would likely result in his death. When I'd tried to talk him out of it, he'd said that he didn't want to die, but that if given the choice, he would choose to die for the people he loved.

At the time, I hadn't been able to understand what it meant to love someone so deeply and fiercely that it almost felt dangerous, because you knew you would keep giving away parts of yourself to keep them safe, giving and giving until there was nothing left but the memory of their hands and their voice and their taste.

Crofts turns the key in the ignition and the engine roars to life. Mason and the two other guards, Grant and Serena, climb into the back, taking seats on the bench opposite from mine and Dimitri's. Mason had been the one to choose the members of our team; he knows the ad Salvum better than anyone and I trust him to make the right call, but something about Serena scratches at the back of my skull.

"Do I know you?" I finally ask, my head tilting to one side as the transport begins moving.

"You do, actually," she stops, hesitating for a brief moment. "I drove the prisoner transport that took you two from the compound to the railway station." She nods her chin at Dimitri and me, a smile playing on her mouth. "I wish I'd known what kind of hell you planned on raising, I might have stuck around."

Now that she's reminded me, I remember that Serena had been the one to meet Dimitri, Mikhail, and me outside of the Provincial Guard house the night I had arrested Dimitri.

"What the hell, Mase? Is everyone in the NAAMA military secretly working for you?" I ask skeptically, raking a hand through my hair.

He shrugs. "Even the most loyal dog will bite its master after one too many kicks. Soldiers are no different; more and more are defecting everyday."

"Makes sense," muses Dimitri.

I snort, of course Dimitri the zen master agrees with Mason's ancient proverb.

"We should go over the plan one last time," insists Grant, reminding us all that we have a job to do.

Mason swallows, "Right. Belikov, you have the map?"

Dimitri answers by way of pulling the map from his pocket and spreading it out among the five of us.

"The Atlanta Facility is here," says Mason, pointing to a spot on the map. "Portum is here, and the Lonestar is here. If Belikov and I are right, and I think that we are, we should be able to intercept the prisoner transport here." He traces his fingers along the map, dragging them along two marked lines until they meet, the spot marked by a red X.

The place we had chosen to stage our ambush is a little ways outside the stone walls of the Lonestar Facility. We are all too aware that once our people pass behind those walls, our chance of success lowers astronomically. The odds are already stacked against us and so everything hinges on this one detail of our plan.

"We'll stash our transport here," says Dimitri, gesturing to another point on the map. "Croft will remain with our supplies, ready to make a quick getaway if need be. The five of us will set up a perimeter along the road and -"

"And then we wait," I say before Dimitri can finish, my voice wary.

I do not like our plan - there are too many variables, and staking out an open road leaves us exposed.

Dimitri's hand, moving under the cover of the map sprawled out across us, gives my thigh a reassuring squeeze.

"It's the best plan we have," says Mason, noting my doubt,

 _It's the only plan we have._

"Captain," says Grant. "What about -"

Mason is quick to cut him off. "Non-issue."

Dimitri and I glance at each other, exchanging looks of mild confusion.

"Rose, when was the last time you fired a weapon?" Mason asks, changing the subject.

"If you're asking me if I still remember how to pull a trigger, then you're wasting your breath," I say, fighting the urge to smile wickedly. "We both know I was always the better shot."

Mason grins, "We'll see about that. What about you, Belikov? Do you feel comfortable using an assault weapon?"

Dimitri nods, even though I'm pretty sure Dimitri has never touched a gun in his life.

We spend the next few hours fleshing out the details of our plan, drilling each other and discussing the possible fallouts, until each of us can recite the entire strategy backward and forward. Then we are left with nothing but silence - the calm before the storm, and we are the thunder.

…

My nerves are all on fire by the time the transport rolls to a stop. Everyone is visibly on edge, legs shake and eyes dart around and warped expressions. Not a single member on our team had thought twice about this mission, but our collective anxiety is still a palpable thing that hangs all around us.

We rise as one and exit the vehicle. The world around us is pitch black and deadly silent - a curse and a blessing. Tiny puffs of desert sand rise in a cloud around my boots when I leap down from the transport, and everyone pauses to try and survey the terrain.

"We're going to leave tracks," grumbles Mason. "We might as well paint them a giant neon sign."

Serena and Grant begin unloading and distributing weapons and ammunition while Mason reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small jumble of cords.

"Here," he says, trying to untangle the mess of earpieces, but his fingers are trembling. "The three of us can scout ahead, we'll use these to stay in contact."

No one else seems to notice Mason's heightened panic. Grant and Serena nod their understanding and the two of them return to organizing ammunition clips and magazines, using a small lantern to guide their work.

Mason gestures for Dimitri and I to follow him, and together the three of us slip into the darkness, each of us armed to the teeth. We trudge through the sand in silence, trying to take note of landmarks and possible points of entry, but the task is nearly impossible in the darkness. The vastness of our surroundings makes me feel even more vulnerable.

"I don't like this," I whisper. "The further we get from the Lonestar, the more we open ourselves up to error - that transport could be coming from any direction."

"I'm open to suggestions," says Mason, a slight, almost imperceptible tremor in his voice.

"We should move closer to the facility. We can bottleneck them there, wait for the transport to come to us. Between the guard towers, the walls, and the night - we should have enough cover and we can move in from there."

"That's risky, Rose." warns Dimitri. "If we wait until the transport is almost inside the facility and something goes wrong, we won't be able to fix it."

I turn to Dimitri, trying to peer through the night, but my sudden halt causes Mason to walk straight into me. He let's out a curse before apologizing.

"What is up with you?" I demand.

"Nothing," he says, his tone already defensive.

"Don't lie," I hiss. "You're completely wound up. What is going on?"

Even in the darkness I can see Mason hesitate. "Grant won't go for it - your plan, I mean."

"What are you talking about? What does he have to do with this?" I ask, trying to keep my voice low. Then I think back to earlier, when we had been in the transport and Grant had tried to ask Mason about our plan.

"Why did Tatiana want him on the mission?" asks Dimitri, already picking up on my exact line of thinking.

"Take out your earpieces," Mason commands, and we both do as we're told. "Grant is Tatiana's insurance policy."

"Against what?" I ask.

"In case we fail. If we can't get our people out of there, Grant has orders to...to shoot them on sight."

My heart momentarily seizes up in my chest.

"Her own people?" Dimitri demands, somehow managing to sound disbelieving and unsurprised all at the same time.

Mason releases a tremulous breath. "She doesn't want to risk them talking and revealing what they know. Portum Lux depends on it."

"Eddie is on that transport," I whisper.

"I know," says Mason, swallowing hard.

"What do we do?" asks Dimitri, his mind already made up that he will not sit idly by.

I am again overcome with a burning desire to wrap my arms around him. He never thinks twice, never hesitates when it comes to defending another, even when it puts his own life in danger.

"I have an idea," says Mason. "But I don't think you guys are gonna like it."

…

We don't put our earpieces back in. After conferring for a few moments, the three of us creep back to where we had left the other members of our team. Croft is still sitting in the driver's seat of the vehicle while Grant and Serena hunch over what I can only assume is the map; their backs are to us.

"You're right," I mutter to Mason. "I don't like this."

The three of use fan out, Mason heading toward the front of the transport as Dimitri and I approach from the rear. We get as close as we dare and then lunge toward our unsuspecting teammates. I wrap my forearm across Serena's throat and pull back as hard as I can, my other hand clamping down on her mouth. She struggles against me, but the air is leaving her lungs too quickly for her to put up much of a fight. A minute later, Serena slumps against me and I do my best to lower her unconscious form gently onto the desert sand. When I look over, I see that Dimitri has managed to incapacitate Grant and has already begun to secure his arms behind his back.

Mason appears from around the corner, his expression grim in the lantern light. He kneels down beside me and together, we move Serena and Grant into the transport and slam the doors shut.

"We had to," says Mason, but I'm not sure which of us he is trying to reassure. "We have no way of knowing which of them has been told about the kill-order, we can't risk it."

I know he's right, but I can still feel guilt coursing through my veins and I have to turn away from our transport.

The sky has started to lighten - _we're running out of time._

"Come on," I tell them, "Time for part two."

…

The three of us head due-west, toward the Lonestar Facility. I can almost make out the stark white walls and the surrounding guard towers in the distance, reflecting the moonlight like a beacon.

My heart is thundering in my chest, blood rushing in my ears and I adjust the rifle strapped to my back, doing my best to take some of the weight off of my injured shoulder. I try not to think about how each step takes me closer to the place that gave me that injury.

Spotlights dance across the sand surrounding the facility, and two massive towers stand on either side of the iron gates. Aside from the train tunnel, those gates are the only way in, and our only chance of saving Eddie and the others.

We come to a halt a few hundred yards away, just outside the reach of the lights.

"Are you ready?" Mason breathes, his voice almost inaudible.

Dimitri and I nod our heads and I turn to Mason, his features barely visibly. "Be careful," I warn him.

He laughs to himself and then offers me one of his signature grins. "You're the one who needs to be careful, I've seen you get winded walking up the stairs of the Duval, try not to strain yourself, Hathaway."

I punch his arm playfully. "Don't push your luck, _Captain_."

We stand there for a moment, each of us trying to keep the weight of what we're about to do from smothering us.

"I'll see you soon," he tells me, and then nods at Dimitri. "Belikov."

Mason turns and disappears into the night.

Dimitri and I begin moving in the opposite direction, skirting along the reach of the spotlights until we're about 50 yards behind one of the towers. We wait for one of the lights to sweep past us before sprinting toward the tower.

We practically throw ourselves against it, pressing our bodies to the hard stone - trying to make ourselves as insignificant as possible. I slide down the wall and reach for my rifle, then begin inching along on my stomach and elbows, using my knees to propel my body through the sand. Dimitri follows suit and soon we have moved along the perimeter of the structure so that we are hidden in the overlapping shadows of the wall and the tower. He begins clumping piles of dirt and sand together, trying to create some crude form of covering. It's the best that either of us can manage given the circumstances.

I look toward the other tower, hoping to catch a glimpse of Mason, but also dreading it. If I can see him then the Lonestar guards probably can too. Dimitri, Mason, and I had known we would have to split up. There are two main towers, and only two experienced shooters, but I still don't like it. _._

I nestle the barrel of my rifle in the sand, using it like a perch to help me aim better, then Dimitri and I lay perfectly still, and wait.

"I'm glad you're here," I whisper. It's selfish of me to want him here, but it's also the truth.

He moves closer to me so that our bodies are touching. "Where you go, I go," he tells me, as if it were the simplest thing in the world.

"Dimitri, I -"

I freeze mid-sentence at the faint sound of truck tires rolling across gravel. The glimmer of headlights piercing through the purple haze of dawn follows soon after. I peer into the darkness at where I hope Mason is hidden, eyes straining as I wait for his signal. A few moments later, I catch a brief glimpse of red that would have been invisible unless you had been looking for it.

I suck in a deep breath of desert air and count to three.

One.

Two

Three.

My finger pulls down on the trigger in rapid succession just as a standard issue NAAMA transport rolls by. The bullets find their mark and the sound of the tires blowing out fills the air, followed by the squeal of brakes, shouts from the guard towers, and more bullets.

I take another breath and then readjust my position so that the barrel of my rifle is aimed at the guard tower that stands about 50 yards away. I squeeze down on the trigger and two guards fall from the tower, their bodies silhouetted against the early morning sky as they plummet through open air.

A siren begins to sound somewhere in the distance, loud and urgent and damning.

 _Too soon, too soon._

I hear a loud thud from somewhere behind me, but I force my gaze ahead - zeroing in on the remaining guards.

"Bodies," whispers Dimitri, confirming that Mason has found his target and that the tower above us is near vacant.

My heart beats in time with the blasts of my rifle, and I slip into a comfortable rhythm, but somewhere, bullets ring out like loose change being thrown against a sheet of metal, a shower of ammunition and firepower.

I shift slightly, adjusting my position again so that the butt of the gun rests against my injured shoulder, and I look toward the spot where Mason is supposed to be hiding. My eyes nearly bulge out of my skull at the sight of his red hair as he creeps closer to the edge of the road and toward the transport.

A few guards leap out of the vehicle, guns drawn and at the ready, but Mason takes them out before they even have a chance to load the cartridges.

"He did it!" I say as loud as I dare, "We just have to - "

My exclamation is cut short by the cries of one of the guards above us. "Grenade!"

In the span of one heartbeat, Dimitri throws his body on top of mine, trying to shield me from the blast.

The world around me explodes in a riot of sounds and screams that reverberate through every fiber of my being before my vision clouds over with red - and everything falls away.


	19. Chapter 19

_**Vasilisa -**_

" _What a terrible feeling to love someone and not be able to help them."_

 _Jennifer Niven_ _,_ _All the Bright Places_

 _One more time_.

 _Circle the Duval just one more time._

I have been going round and round for what feels like hours - refusing to accept that Christian hasn't come back - _he has to be here somewhere._

Except that the crowd has started to disperse; every time I circle back around, there are fewer people.

This is the part where it gets hard, where letting yourself get close to someone becomes a risk. I had taken a risk with Christian. Everything about him had screamed danger, and there had been a million signs - _warning, proceed with caution, fire hazard._ I had ignored them all, and let him in anyway.

I think the part that hurts the most is that he has done nothing wrong - he went on a mission to rescue civilians. Those people, the ones hugging and crying outside of the Duval, are here because of Christian.

I almost wish that he had broken my heart with sharp words instead of this awful feeling of unknowing that gnaws at my insides.

I turn my back on the Duval and scan the shattered remains of a city, wondering if it's possible Christian is out there somewhere. It would take hours to scour Portum Lux though, and so I take a deep breath, resigning myself to what I know is the quickest way to find out what has happened to Christian, and hopefully Rose and Dimitri.

It's entirely possible that Tatiana won't be in her office. Even if she is, she might refuse to see me. I start moving toward the Capitol building anyway. My legs wobble with every step, and the adrenaline that had been coursing through me at the prospect of finding Christian in the crowd is fading.

The streets, normally silent as a grave, are a cacophony of voices. I nearly pass right by the narrow alley that leads to the medical facility, and it takes a moment for me to register that the sounds are coming from that direction.

 _How could I have been so stupid?_

If someone was injured during the raid, they would have been brought to medical center. I turn down the alley and shove my way past a group of civilians that have gathered outside the metal doors.

When I reach the top of the stairs, a frantic looking nurse in light blue scrubs tells me that all incoming refugees from the raid are being brought to triage. He points me in the direction of another set of metal doors.

The room on the other side of those doors is chaos.

The triage unit is lined with metal beds and machines, and the far end of it has been sectioned off for privacy. The harsh fluorescent lights bear down on the nurses and doctors as they weave their way across the room. Their arms are filled with salves and bandages, while some hand out food and water. The refugees are all so thin, their crepey skin marred with bruises of varying age and color.

Sydney's blonde hair is like a beacon as she moves among the throng. Her golden eyes are fiery and determined as she directs the nurses and scribbles notes onto her clipboard. She is a master conductor, and this ward is her symphony.

I almost feel bad for intervening, but if Christian is in one of these beds, she will know. "Sydney!" I call.

Her head whips around, her eyes finding mine. She cuts a path toward me. "What are you doing here?" she asks, handing off the clipboard to a passing nurse. "The boy in bed 17 is allergic to penicillin," she tells the man before he scurries away.

"Have you seen Christian?" I ask.

She shakes her head. "I haven't."

I try not to react.

If Christian isn't in triage, then he's not hurt.

 _He could be dead._

"Lissa," she says, waving a hand in front of my face. "Lissa, are you okay?"

"Thank you," I say, even though it hadn't been the response she'd asked for.

Turning away from her, I walk out of the room, my eyes blurring over as the door swings shut behind me. She doesn't follow me though; she has more important things to worry about than my seemingly futile search.

After a few minutes of aimless wandering, I realize that I'd taken a wrong turn out of the triage unit. The corridor I stumble down is completely unfamiliar, but I keep my eyes focused on the floor beneath me, trying to keep the world from turning on its head.

I have to get out of this medical center, and so I will myself to walk faster, but my knees are buckling under the weight of my grief.

"Lissa!" someone yells.

My head snaps up, and then my eyes go wide with disbelief.

Christian is standing at the far end of the corridor. He has a long scratch down one cheek, and his blue eyes are sunken with exhaustion, but _he's alive._

He runs toward me, but I stay rooted to the spot as relief and anger crash over me like waves breaking against the shore. He looks as though he wants to embrace me but thinks better of it when he notices my stormy expression. His own expression is a mixture of hurt and confusion.

"What is wrong with you?" I seethe.

"Uh, I - nothing," he stammers. "I'm fine."

I give his chest a hard shove. "That's not what I meant!"

He stumbles back a step, blinking in surprise.

"You were supposed to meet me! But you left, and you didn't say a word, no explanation - no anything! You get to go off on some heroic mission, and I get to wonder whether you're still breathing." He opens his mouth to speak, but I cut him off. "I thought you were dead, Christian!" I jab a finger in his face. "But here you are - you...you're here."

The rage dissipates as I allow myself to take him in - his steady breathing, his pulse fluttering in the pale hollow of his neck.

A heartbeat later, my arms are around him. Christian holds onto me like he's lost at sea, and I'm the only thing keeping him afloat. He buries his face in the crook of my neck, and we fall backward against the wall of the corridor, both of us too unstable to support ourselves.

We stay that way for as long as we can, clinging to each other as if our bodies would come apart at the seams if we let go.

"I'm still mad at you," I mumble against his chest.

His sides rumble with silent laughter. "That's fair."

I crane my neck to look up at him, my body still pinned against the wall. "Did you do it?" I ask. "Did you save them?"

He presses his forehead to mine. "We got them all out."

"Did anyone get hurt?"

"No, but a lot of the refugees are in bad shape, so we brought them here first. I thought it might be a bit overwhelming, so I stayed with a few of the younger ones until I knew they would be okay."

I'm trying not to beam at him. "Who knew you were such a softy?"

He smiles, and it's like I'm seeing color for the first time.

"A few of them were from the Northwestern Province," he tells me, eyes searching mine. "Do you know someone named Jill?"

Her name sends a jolt of recognition through me. "Jill Mastrano?"

Christian shrugs, "Maybe."

"Oh no," I say, my head falling back against the wall. "Rose warned us that the RPD would probably send someone else to investigate after we disappeared. I can't believe they took Jill."

He uses one hand to gently tilt my chin back down. "It's not your fault. She's safe now."

"Oz?" someone's voice crackles.

Christian and I both look down at his waist to the radio clipped on his belt. He hesitates, but knows he can't ignore the call. Not at a time like this. He grabs the radio and presses it to his mouth.

"What is it?" he asks, suddenly sounding exhausted.

"The other team has just arrived." Christian and I suck in matching breaths _\- Rose and Dimitri._

Christian's tongue darts across his chapped lips. "Where are they now?"

Even over the radio, I can hear the other speaker's doubt, and his voice waivers as he says, "Triage."

"Thanks, I'll head down there now," he replies, starting to lower the radio, but the voice comes again.

"Oz, you should know...the men reported that there was a casualty."

Someone has just ripped the world out from under me, and I fight the urge to collapse. Instead, I swallow hard and meet Christian's icy gaze. The apprehension in his eyes is a perfect reflection of my own.

Without a word, Christian and I turn and sprint down the corridor toward triage.

The room is still in complete chaos as people in scrubs rush back and forth with IV drips and move gurneys carrying the wounded around the room.

Dimitri is standing in the middle of the turbulence, looking shell-shocked.

I let out a sigh of relief. Despite his grief-stricken expression, he is still standing. As awful as it seems, I know he wouldn't be as composed if something had happened to Rose.

 _They're okay - they're both okay._

Dimitri catches sight of Christian and me and begins walking sluggishly toward us. Once he reaches us I hug him briefly before pulling away to assess any damage.

"You're okay," I breathe, and it's more of a question than a statement.

"I'm fine," he assures me, but his voice is hollow.

Christian steps forward. "What happened? Control just informed me there was a…" he lowers his voice. "That there was a casualty."

"There was," says Dimitri, sounding utterly helpless.

A cart piled high with bandages and scalpels clatters to the ground, sending needles and metal bowls skittering across the pristine, white floor. I look down and see a syringe rolling across the tiles before bumping against my boot. The sound almost goes unnoticed among the chaos, but is quickly followed by plaintive wailing.

Dimitri's entire body tenses. His expression warped with anguish, but he doesn't look at all startled.

"Dimitri," I say, a slight tremor in my voice. "Where is Rose?"

He shakes his head slowly then brings up a hand to touch his right ear, wincing. "They told me I had to leave," he says, but I can't make sense of his words.

"Who told you that?" I ask. "Dimitri, what did they mean?"

He doesn't respond, and instead he turns away. Christian and I follow his gaze across the room. White sheets hang from the ceiling, creating partitions. One of the sheets is stained red and billows as if caught in a summer breeze.

The scream comes again, louder, more desperate this time, and a hand peaks out from behind the curtain and pulls down hard on the fabric so that part of it now drapes onto the floor. The hand is pulled away, leaving behind a bloody print.

The three of us run toward the struggle, and Christian immediately yanks the curtain out of the way. He reveals Rose, thrashing wildly as two nurses struggle to pin her arms to her side - their eyes wide with terror. Dimitri rushes toward her, cupping her face between his hands, trying to soothe her.

"Roza," he chokes out. "Roza, it's okay, it's okay, it's okay," he chants over and over. He then begins whispering to her in Russian, but she doesn't seem to register his presence.

She strains against the nurses, who cling to her, trying desperately to keep her from lashing out. Her limbs are coated in crimson. She lets out another scream, but it dissolves into heaving, wretched sobs.

"Where is he?" she demands.

Sydney appears, armed with a syringe. "Dimitri! I told you that you couldn't be here. It agitates her!"

Dimitri ignores her as Rose lets loose another feral cry. Sydney moves past him and jams the needle into her neck without any hesitation, as I watch in horror as her arms go limp and her body starts to shut down. I take a step toward her, but Christian seizes my wrist and tugs me back.

"Where is he?" she hiccups, her head lolling to one side as she fights to remain conscious. The nurses relinquish their hold.

She crumples forward, but Dimitri already has his arms around her and cradles her trembling form against his chest.

"Mason," she whimpers, her voice groggy from whatever drug they had given her.

One hand claws at Dimitri's shirt, but there is nothing left of her and it falls away.

"Shh," murmurs Dimitri, using one hand to smooth back her hair.

Rose's bruised eyelids flutter closed, tears still coursing down her cheeks. She heaves a breath and then goes completely still.

 **I know a lot of you saw this coming (and some of you asked me very nicely not to, and I'm sorry that I did it anyways) For those of you who have talked with me about these books, you know that Mason's death in the VA books kind of wrecked me (like the part where Rose is still trying to protect Mason even after he dies? That was rude, Richelle)**

 **So you're probably wondering why on earth I would write his death into this story - the best answer I can give you is that I have tried really hard to parallel the original stories, and that even though our favorite characters have been placed in a drastically different world (and as some of you wonderful people have pointed out, they've had to grow up much faster because of it) I still feel like Mason's death plays a huge roll in the development of Rose's character, and that might be the case even more so in this story because of the past that I have created for this version of her.**

 **Anyways, I'm sorry for all the sadness, feel free to yell at me via a PM or review.**

 **P.S. For once there are no spelling/tense errors and someone besides my dumb ass has reviewed this update. Thank you to the lovely hbarker, you are an actual life saver!**


	20. Chapter 20

_**Rose -**_

" _So it's true, when all is said and done, grief is the price we pay for love."_

― _E.A. Bucchianeri_ _,_ _Brushstrokes of a Gadfly_

Mason is dead.

Mason is dead and there is nothing left of the boy I had known, nothing left of him for us to mourn. There is no body for us to place in a casket, to lower into a hole in the ground: no final resting place for the Captain.

Pink mist is all that is left of Mason.

It sounds like maybe it should be pretty. Like the way the light from a sunset bleeds into the sky - until the blue turns to pink, to purple, to black. Or like the way a pale spring morning clings to your skin.

But the pink isn't referring to a sunset, and the mist isn't referring to the dewy droplets of water that slide down the stems of flowers during the early, quiet hours of the day.

Pink mist is _death_.

Pink mist is flesh that has turned from something solid that you can feel beneath the palm of your hand – warm and full of life – to something that catches on the wind and blows past you – cold, wet and unfeeling.

The Academy didn't formally teach us what happens to a person who comes into contact with an explosive device – they didn't have to. It seems like something you should _just know._ Something so blatantly obvious that it doesn't merit a lecture. Bombs and mines and grenades – different means to the same end. It all ends with _death_.

Even now, with my back against the paneled walls of the training warehouse, I can see the small explosive hurdling through the air and toward my friend, moving too fast for either of us to realize what's about to happen. I know it isn't possible for me to have heard the soft clicking sound of the soldier yanking out the pin, one hand still clamped around the release. But I am so familiar with that exact instrument that I _know,_ without needing to have witnessed it, what that had sounded like.

I close my eyes and Mason is there, silhouetted against a twilight sky, the compound at his back.

He smiles. It's the same cocky grin that will haunt me until the end of my days. I can only hope that the image drives me mad before then.

He mouths my name.

 _Click._

My eyelids fly open, and I force myself to stare at the far end of the warehouse - at the puddle of mystery substance that drips from the ceiling. I will myself to concentrate on the droplets as they fall, at the ripples, at the ebb and flow, at anything that isn't Mason.

 _Click._

I let out a scream. I scream until my throat is raw and my chest is heaving, until there is nothing left of my anguish but racking sobs. My strangled cries reverberate off of the stone walls and the metal tiles of the ceiling, hurling them back at me – echoes of my despair.

The door to the warehouse opens, but I don't bother to see whose footsteps are coming toward me. "Rose?" Lissa's voice is small, gentle, and scared. I vaguely remember her being in the triage center when I'd been brought back, but not much else. She moves to stand in front of me, but my gaze doesn't rise past her fidgeting boots. "Rose," she says again, still tentative. She crouches down, forcing me to make eye contact with her. "What are you doing in here?"

My lips feel as if they have been sewn shut.

Lissa crawls forward to sit beside me, her back against the warehouse now too. It's actually pretty brave considering how awful I probably smell, but I don't tell her that. Sydney hadn't wanted to release me, but had also been afraid of what I might do if she'd try to make me stay. More importantly, she had known better than to try and jab me with a needle again.

"Dimitri is looking for you," Lissa conveys in a low voice.

I still don't speak, I would never be able to explain why I can't face him – not now, not after what he saw.

Lissa tilts her head toward me, studying me intently, her brows knitting together as she tries to think of what she could possibly say to me. She decides to go with, "I'm sorry." When she still doesn't get a response, she goes on without one. "For a lot of things – for not telling you the truth, for trying to make you stay…for Mason."

 _Click_.

"And for having to tell you this." Now she has my attention. "Rose, there's going to be a hearing – the counsel has already begun interviewing the double-ops that you managed to rescue, but no one really knows exactly what happened."

"They can all go to hell," I tell her.

"Christian is trying to buy you more time, but he can't hold them off forever."

"He can't protect me."

"What do you mean?" she asks, puzzled by my vagueness. "You're safe, Rose. No one is going to hurt you."

I pull my knees to my chest and fold my arms around them. "Maybe they won't hurt me, but they're not going to let me stay either. Not after what happened."

"No one blames you for his death, Rose. It wasn't your fault."

Maybe I hadn't pulled the pin, but I am still the reason Mason is dead. "I'm not talking about Mason."

"Rose," she says, her gentle tone cut through with fear. "What happened? After Mason – " Lissa cuts off her words abruptly, realizing too late that the mention of his name would likely set me off again.

"Died," I say, the word as hollow as the cavernous pit that has formed in my chest.

She blinks in surprise. "What?"

"After Mason died," I tell her too calmly. "That's what you had been about to say. After Mason died."

She swallows and now her worry is a palpable thing that hangs in the air, more bitter than the sweat and the blood that clings to the surfaces of the warehouse.

Lissa is afraid, and I find myself recalling how she looked at me the first night we met. Her eyes had been wide, green and haunted; full of a deep seeded hatred of my red belt and the girl who had worn it. They are the same. However, where there had been disdain, there is concern; where there had been fear _of_ the girl with the red belt, there is now fear _for_ the girl with the red belt.

I don't deserve her worry or her compassion.

"Yes," she says, more resolutely than I thought she was capable of at the moment. "What happened after?"

My head falls back against the wall and I try to take a deep breath, but even breathing feels wretched. "I killed them," I whisper. My voice is hoarse and maybe it's from the screaming and maybe it's my throat constricting at the thought of what I had done. My words come out soft despite the hardness of my heart. "I killed them all."

Lissa mistakes my tone for guilt. "Rose," she says soothingly, scooting toward me even though I just admitted to being responsible for a small massacre. "You didn't have a choice."

My laughter comes out in hiccupping gasps as I stumble to my feet and away from Lissa. "I could have spared them, I could have gotten our people out of the transport and left. Killing those men was _my_ choice."

After the grenade had gone off, I had left Dimitri behind and emerged from behind the pile of rock and sand that we had been using as cover. He might have called out for me, but I didn't think, I just pulled the handgun from my holster and fired.

 _One._

 _Two._

 _Three._

 _Four_.

I didn't wait to confirm that I had successfully shot the men still perched on the watch towers. I rarely missed, and if I had missed that day – I think I would have been grateful for the return fire.

I fired until the chamber was empty, until the rounds I kept at my belt were spent, until the only weapon at my disposal was the knife in my boot. The gates to the facility had cracked open wide enough for a small contingency of guards to get through. They'd thought sending a larger number of guards wouldn't be necessary to take down one girl. They were wrong.

I buried my blade in the chest of every man and woman that crossed my path, driving it beneath flesh and through bone.

That's how Dimitri had found me, crouched over the body of a soldier with my hand gripping the blood-slicked hilt of a knife.

Red is the last thing I remember. Red blood, red belts, red hair and freckles.

 _Click._

Lissa shoots to her feet. "You had just watched your oldest friend die!" she exclaims.

"And that makes it okay?" I demand, backing away from her.

"No," she concedes, her tongue running across chapped lips. "What you did…it wasn't okay. But, Rose, it's understandable – you, you just snapped. No one blames you. You did what you thought you needed to do at the time."

She's grasping at straws and at explanations she must know I will never accept. "I did not snap," I tell her in what I intend to be a cold and furious voice, but I am tired – so tired and my voice is a vacant shell of emotion - _I had wanted to kill them._

 _Click_.

My hands clutch the sides of my head, my fingers curling around greasy, dark tendrils of hair, and I fight the urge to pull. "You don't get it." My words come out in a whimper. "You can't fix me, Liss. Not this time." I've gone too far - too far over the edge to be brought back now.

"It's okay, I would have done the same thing," she says, trying too hard to comfort me.

Something in me fractures, and out pours more grief. "You wouldn't have had the guts," I tell her with renewed venom. "You forget that I've seen you in action. Even with a gun in your hand you're scared - you're too afraid of getting your hands dirty to pull the trigger. You wouldn't have been able to do what I did."

I watch as Lissa strains against the mask of calm she has been fighting to keep in place these last few minutes. Her green eyes are tumultuous, and I know she is replaying the moment outside the compound – when she fired the gun at Victor and missed.

I am still furious with Lissa for what she has done – for lying to me – but that doesn't mean she deserves to be used as a punching bag, and yet I can't stop throwing punches. Grief is a whetstone that sharpens us into crueler versions of ourselves and I know it won't be long until there is nothing left of me but pointed words and open wounds.

"I know you're hurting right now, Rose, but you won't feel like this forever."

I would beg if it meant she would spare me her cliches. "If you tell me that time heals all wounds," I tell her quietly. "I will probably punch you in the face. Because it's not true." I will never stop grieving for Mason, because I will never stop loving him. In death - we cannot have one without the other. They are forever intertwined. The day I stop grieving him and stop missing him, will be the day I forget him.

I don't want to forget. I don't deserve to forget.

"Fine," Lissa concedes. "Maybe time doesn't heal all wounds, but you still can't let his death cleave your life in two. If you do that, there will only ever be a before and an after. There is more to you - more to this world - than just before and after. I'm not saying you have to pretend it never happened, but you can still carry this with you without letting it define you."

I'm not sure if she's talking about Mason, or about the men and women I had slaughtered.

She watches me, waiting to see how I react to her words, but I don't know how I should be acting right now. Maybe Lissa is right, and there is a way for me to move forward, but I'm not sure how to get there. But right now, it might be enough just to know that it's possible.

I walk toward Lissa and reach for her hand, lacing our fingers together. "Thank you." Her bottom lip trembles, and she nods, biting back tears. I know then that I have done the right thing; I will not force her to help me carry the weight of my guilt and my shame.

She walks me back to the Duval and helps me clean up. The nurses in the triage unit had done their best to scrub the dried blood from my arms, but they hadn't touched my jumpsuit. When Lissa asks me what she should do with my uniform and belt, I tell her to burn them.

We both know that I have to go to the Capitol building and face the council, but we put it off for as long as possible. After my skin has been washed and my hair brushed, Lissa dresses me in a plain pair of pants and a loose fitting sweater.

With nothing left to be done, we walk to the Capitol building, its domes rising imperiously in the distance. The closer we get to the large, wooden doors that lead to the house chamber, the faster my heart beats. Lissa reaches for the brass knob, looking back to make sure I'm ready before twisting and pushing open the door.

The council, Christian and Tatiana included, sit in their usual places atop the stone dais. Christian's elbows are braced on the marble table in front of him, his hands seem to be the only thing keeping his head upright. However, Tatiana is stiff as a board beside him.

No one notices Lissa and me at first; they're too focused on the center of the room where a man stands before the council. We decide to remain in the back, enjoying our invisibility while we can. My eyes scan the room, and I notice that there are no civilians. Instead a group of black-clad men and women fill the benches - _the double-ops._ I had been so wrecked after the Lonestar mission, that I couldn't even remember if we had been successful, or if Mason had died for nothing.

"Then what happened?" Tatiana's clear voice rings out across the room.

"We heard shots," the soldier says, his voice deeper than I expected. "The tires blew out, and the transport nearly rolled. Then there was an explosion, and a few minutes later that big Russian guy opened the door and got us out of there."

"Do you mean Dimitri Belikov?" asks one the council members.

The soldier nods. "He told us where to find the second transport."  
"He didn't take you there himself?" asks Tatiana, sounding suspicious.

He falters for the first time. "No, he said that he would meet us there, and that he had to go back for something."

 _More like someone._ Dimitri had managed to save them, and me. He'd told them how to get to safety, and then he had gone back for me. I would probably spend the rest of my life wondering what the world had done to deserve Dimitri Belikov.

"When you exited the transport, what did you see?" asks Tatiana, folding her hands beneath her chin.

The soldier shrugs. "Sand."

Someone in the room coughs, but Tatiana ignores them. "You didn't see a single Lonestar guard?"

"No," he says, sounding impatient. "We were trying to get out of that transport alive. No one was really paying attention to anything else. Sand is all I remember." His small displays of insolence are commendable.

Tatiana is visibly fuming. "I am not asking you to describe the desert," she snaps. "Did you or did you not see Captain Ashford?"

This time the soldier flinches and he turns away slightly. I catch sight of his face and it feels like someone has kicked me in the stomach. Eddie.

"No," he says quietly.

Tatiana leans back in her seat. "Very well, Castile, you're dismissed."

Eddie's shoulders slump forward, and he turns to join his fellow soldiers on the benches. His eyes pass over me, then dart back to where I stand, something like recognition and disbelief etched across his face.

I can barely stand to hold his gaze, and a fresh wave of guilt passes over me - _Does he know it's my fault that he's here? That it's my fault Mason is dead?_

"Hathaway," says Tatiana coolly. "Thank you for joining us."

Everyone in the room is watching me, but I don't let myself focus on anything but Tatiana. She seems to have aged another ten years since the last time I saw her. I make my way to the center of the room, coming to a halt directly beneath the glass chandelier that hangs from the domed ceiling.

"I am very sorry for your loss," she begins, sounding like she means it. Surely word had gotten to Tatiana of my reaction to Mason's death. "The Captain will be missed. We must, however, get to the bottom of what happened at the Lonestar Facility. I was hoping you could start by explaining why three of my guards can't remember a single detail of what happened that night."

 _It probably has something to do with the fact that they were unconscious the entire time._

"They endangered the mission, and I had to make a call," I tell her, choosing my words carefully.

Tatiana arches a single brow. "What makes you think you had any right to make that kind of call?"

Buried beneath all of my grief and guilt, I feel some of the anger returning, and I am grateful for it. "What makes me think _I_ had the right?" I ask, my voice growing louder. "I'm not the one who made the wrong call that night."

Tatiana does a good job of restraining her temper, and I wonder if she's doing it for my sake, because she feels sorry for me. "I don't have time to play games with you, Hathaway. What are you trying to get at?"

"You gave Grant orders to _shoot_ the prisoners on-sight if he thought there was a chance we wouldn't be able to get them out." I pause, waiting for the room to erupt in anger, but everything and everyone has fallen completely silent.

I seem to be the only one outraged by the idea that these men and women - who had risked everything when they defected - could have died at the hands of the same people they had taken that risk for in the first place.

Tatiana rubs her temples. "It seems that I was very, very wrong about you, Rose. You've somehow managed to cling to your humanity despite having grown up in the academies. I take it that the Captain told you about the kill-order, and from there you all concocted a plan to knock out your teammates and take the mission into your own hands?"

My cheeks flush with anger. "It isn't that simple," I bite out.

"It is," Tatiana responds. "And while it was very noble of you, it was also very stupid." I start to argue, but she holds up a dismissive hand. "You know first-hand what kind of torture defectors are put under - even the strongest of them wouldn't have lasted long. It would have been only a matter of days before the Executor knew exactly where to find Portum Lux. If you and Belikov hadn't been successful, the entire city would have been bombed out of existence by now. Your decency almost cost the lives of hundreds."

"But we _were_ successful," I insist. "They're here, the city is safe, and no one had to -" I freeze, hating myself for what I had been about to say - _and no one had to die_. To my relief, Tatiana let's it go.

"I think that's enough for today," Christian suggests.

Tatiana sighs. "Very well. Hathaway, you are free to go." I turn to leave, but she calls out one last warning. "But this is not the last time we will discuss this matter."

I fight the urge to run out of the room. Lissa is still waiting for me by the doors, looking like she wants to fuss over me, but knowing better than to try. She follows me out and we make it all the way to the stone steps of the capitol before I hear Eddie call my name.

My feet stop moving, and I swallow hard, unsure of what he'll say, unsure of what I'll say, unsure of everything.

"Rose," he says again.

 _Turn and face him you coward!_

My entire body trembles as I turn to look at him.

There are parts of Eddie that have not changed - his sandy brown hair, his good-natured eyes, the curve of his jaw, and yet there is something about him that I do not recognize.

Eddie had always been the picture of a perfect soldier. Like me, he had been orphaned during the Pulse and grown up within the confines of a military academy. Unlike me, Eddie had followed the rules and never made trouble for his instructors. When the time had come for RPD initiates to be paired off, some higher-up had gotten it in their head that if the undisciplined Rose Hathaway were partnered with someone like Eddie, he would be able to keep an eye on her, and some of his fine habits might even rub off on her.

When Mason had told me a few weeks back that Eddie was actually working undercover in the Risk Prevention Department, I almost hadn't believed him. Eddie had always seemed so devoted to the cause, to the RPD's mission. Then I recalled a time when I'd asked Eddie what the hell had inspired his loyalties, and he'd told me that he wasn't devoted to fighting for the Executor's cause, he was devoted to the people he was fighting beside.

"I can't believe you're here," he tells me, and I can't decide if that's a good thing or not.

"Well...here I am," I say, gesturing to myself like an idiot.

"Here you are," he agrees.

When I'd taken the Dashkov assignment, I'd made sure that it was a solo mission. I didn't even say goodbye to him before I left for the Northwestern Province. I hadn't been able to face him them, and I'm still not sure if I can face him now.

"How are you?" I ask, racking my brain for something else to say.

"I'm alive," he says, rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet. "And I'm told I have you to thank for that."

For a moment, I can't speak. I can't tell if he means it, if he really thinks that I'm the one responsible for the fact that he's still breathing.

Finally I shake my head, "The mission succeeded because of Dimitri. If you can even call it a success."

Eddie blinks, looking surprised. "I thought by now I'd be watching my own blood swirl down the drain of an interrogation chamber at the Lonestar, but I'm not. I'm here, in a city I wasn't even sure actually existed. Doesn't that count for something?"

"It does," I admit, my head drooping slightly.

"Then why are you acting like the mission failed?" he asks, sounding like he genuinely doesn't understand my distress.

My eyes dart away from Eddie's face. "Because I failed him," I say, almost too quietly to be heard. "I failed a Mason."

A few moments later, I feel a warm hand come to rest on my shoulder. "You didn't fail him. Mason always did what he thought was right. If you hadn't been on that mission with him, he still would have knocked his team unconscious to prevent the kill-order. If you hadn't been there...Mason might not have been the only casualty." He squeezes my shoulder, and the pressure causes me to meet his gaze once more. I realize that his eyes have glossed over with unshed tears, barely visible in the shadow of the capitol building. "He knew the risk."

Before Eddie has any time to react, I wrap my arms around his waist and pull him into a hug. He stiffens at first and then relaxes into the embrace, his chin coming to rest on the top of my head.

"I miss him," I say, the words muffled against Eddie's chest.

Eddie heaves a breath. "Me too."

We stand like that for a few seconds longer before Eddie pulls away, looking down at my tear-stained cheeks and then letting loose a watery laugh. "Oh man, if he were here right now, and he saw us crying..."

"He would never let us live it down." I finish for him, sniffling and laughing and wiping away tears with the heels of my hands.

Eddie shakes his head. "He wouldn't want this for you," he says, suddenly serious.

I swallow hard. "I know, he would want me to be strong."

Eddie smiles, and my heart lifts. "He would want you to be happy."

…

Over the next few weeks, I repeat Eddie's words to myself like a mantra - _he would want you to be happy_ , and even though I'm not sure if happiness is something I deserve, the words still comfort me.

But despite that small victory - I still wake up screaming most nights. Luckily Christian had been able to shuffle our group around at the Duval so that I now have my own room on the top floor.

My relationship with Dimitri had grown more complicated, but he'd told me that I didn't need to explain myself, and that if a time ever came when I did want to explain, to unburden myself, he would be there for me. I'd wanted to throw my arms around his neck and cry until there was nothing left, but instead I had thanked him for understanding and left without another word.

That night I'd awoken to a _click_ in the darkness.

The next day, I decided that a part of trying to find a way to live with what I had done, a part of being happy, meant I had to stop punishing myself - _he would want you to be happy._

After a long day of ad Salvum training with Eddie, he asks me if I want to grab dinner with him and the others at the Duval, and I agree.

Lissa is sitting next to Christian at the far end of the table. She's using the tips of her pointer fingers to pull Christian's mouth into a forced smile. "Why are you always scowling all the time? You're so much prettier when you smile," she says in a chastising tone.

Christian swats her hands away, trying to look annoyed but beneath his mask, I can tell how happy he is to have her near him.

I take a seat next to Dimitri, who doesn't comment on what a surprise it is to see me at dinner or call attention to the fact that I had been avoiding practically every person sitting at the table. Instead, he asks me about my day and if I've been sleeping any better. The conversation flows a little more freely, and the smiles come a little more easily.

Sydney and Adrian sit directly across from us, squabbling about something while Adrian twirls noodles around a plastic fork.

"Adrian," Sydney says, trying a little too hard to sound scornful. "For the last time, nothing is wrong with you."

Adrian looks skeptical, but he shrugs and says, "Better safe than sorry."

I lean closer to Dimitri. "What's going on? What is Sydney talking about?"

"Adrian's been to the medical center 6 times since we got here," he whispers.

My eyes widen in alarm. "What? Why? Is something wrong with him?"

"Nope, not according to Sydney." Then he gives me a conspiratorial glance. "Well nothing that can be medically proven."

We laugh, heads bowed together. A strange, warm feeling rises in my chest and I realize that this is the most normal I've felt in days. I look around at my friends, at the man I love, at the civilians and the soldiers I have learned to live and work and fight beside, and I feel the pieces of my heart begin to fit themselves together again.

The way I figure it, the moments that define your life can be categorized in one of two ways: the ones you see coming - the ones you planned for, hoped for, or maybe even dreaded, and the ones that completely blindside you.

The second kind, those can be the worst - the deaths and the accidents you never saw coming, but they can also be pretty special: the moments that crept up on you, the little experiences that maybe you took for granted or didn't realize would impact you the way they did.

I would never have thought that the moment to bring me out of the darkness, the one that would save me from all of the pain and the guilt - would be this one.

I slip my hand beneath the table, searching until I find Dimitri's. He jumps a little in surprise, and then laces his fingers with mine.

He leans in just a little closer to whisper into my ear. "Welcome back."

 **Fun fact (or probably not so fun fact): the** _ **pink mist**_ **scene is the first thing I ever wrote for this entire series. It was kind of the birthplace of the story (which is a little messed up now that I think about it) I have definitely had to go back and tweak it as the plot and characters developed, but the reflection was very important to me when I set out to write this story.**

 **Things are going to start picking up I swear, now that I have basically dragged you all through the mud, you shall be rewarded with other, slightly more uplifting updates.**

 **P.S. Have I mentioned lately how fantastic hbarker is? Not quite sure how I managed before and now I don't think I could go back.**

 **(Also a special welcome to LAMusings, your reviews are cracking me up)**


	21. Chapter 21

_**Vasilisa -**_

" _A thing is not necessarily true because a man dies for it."_

 _-_ _Oscar Wilde_

I'm not surprised to find Rose in the training warehouse. The familiar tang of blood and sweat still hangs in the air, but it's the scent of bleach and alcohol that stings the insides of my nostrils. I notice that the floors, though still cracked and made of rough looking stone, are gleaming beneath the harsh fluorescent lights. The pads and other equipment that line one wall of the warehouse all appear to have been wiped down recently. I'm almost tempted to run one hand down the torso of a sparring dummy, but the images of blood and bodily fluids coating every surface still feels very real, so I keep that hand clenched in a fist by my side.

I scan the room until I find Rose. She's on her hands and knees in the middle of the ring. Instead of practicing or running through drills, she's scrubbing at the floor and cursing. When I get closer I see that she's covered in dust and dirt. "Rose," I call out.

Her head perks up, and she tosses a sponge into a bucket beside her. "Hey," she says, wiping a hand on her already filthy sweatpants. "What's up?"

I step up onto the ring and join her on the floor. "Nothing," I tell her, admiring the work she's done. "I just wanted to check on you."

Her dark eyes shift to where I sit. She then plunges a hand back into the bucket to retrieve the sponge. "I'm fine," she says quickly, scrubbing at a dark brown stain on the floor that appears to now be a permanent feature.

"You should change your name to _fine_ ," I mumble.

Thankfully, she fails to hear me as she lets out another curse before tossing the ragged sponge aside. "I give up. The only way this place will ever be clean is if they knock it down and rebuild."  
I furrow my brows at her, "Why bother?"

Rose blinks at me a few times, and I recognize the facade she puts in place when she wants to appear impassive. "They want to name it after him - the warehouse. The other ad Salvum guards voted on it after last night's training session"

I don't need to ask who she means. "You don't want them to?" I ask, noting her frustration.

She looks up toward the ceiling, toward the rusted metal beams and flickering lights. "It just doesn't seem right, putting his name on _this_...this _dump_ ," she explains, raising her arms to gesture at the worn and torn space. "How will that honor his memory?" She lets her arms fall limply to her sides, seemingly defeated, but by what I can't be sure.

"How did Mason feel about this place?" I ask, hoping that using his name isn't too much, too quickly. It had been a few weeks since his death, and though Rose had been doing better, I can still tell when she shows up to dinner with puffy cheeks and swollen eyes.

She glances at the double doors at the front of the warehouse, a far away look in her eyes. "He was so excited to show me," she says in a voice that's as distant and vacant as her expression. "I don't think he was particularly fond of the smell, but he loved training here and being around the guard."

"And the guard?" I ask. "Did they love him back?"

She looks slightly taken aback, as if she'd never considered it, but then she starts to nod slowly. "Yes," she says. "I think so."

I scoot a little closer to her. "Then maybe it isn't so much about honoring his memory as it is about feeling like they've done something to commemorate that love. I don't think putting someone's name on something after they've died is about the person at all. It's about the ones they left behind."

The corners of Rose's mouth quirk up almost imperceptibly; the ghost of a smile. "When did you become so wise?" she asks, elbowing me playfully in the ribs.

Seeing her like this, a flash of the girl I had come to love, makes my chest ache. "Must be all my classes with Professor Sage," I reply sarcastically.

"He seems like a fun guy," she tells me, mirroring my sarcasm. "But Dimitri did tell me that you're doing really well in school, even if your professor is an asshole."

This time, I'm the one who reaches for the sponge. "If by 'really well', he means that I don't hate it as much, then yes." My hands hover over the stain that Rose had been trying to scrub out of existence. I freeze at the realization that it's blood.

Rose looks at me curiously. "I thought this is what you wanted?" she asks. "To learn about all the things that the Provincial schools couldn't teach you."

"It is. It's just...it's not what I expected it to be."

Rose let's out a breathy laugh. "Nothing about this place is what we expected it to be."

A sheet of pale blonde hair has fallen in front of my face, and I peer through the strands to where Rose sits by the bucket. She begins picking at the hem of her shirt; at a thread that has started to unravel.

"Maybe we should just stop expecting so much of the world," she says, her voice devoid of emotion. "That way it can't disappoint us."

A few months ago, I might have disagreed. I might have tried to convince her that it was no way to live. Now I think she might be on to something. We place our trust in other people and in the world. We expect that if we say certain things, act a certain way, live a certain life, everything will work out the way we had hoped. But the world doesn't owe us that kind of compliance - it doesn't owe us a damn thing. "You should use rubbing alcohol," I tell her, sitting back on my heels. "On the stain," I say, pointing to the stark reminder of all that's been lost. "It might help."

She nods, though I'm not sure she's actually listening. "Thanks."

An awkward silence falls. It's been so long since Rose and I have talked, just the two of us. Though I know I probably deserve to be kept at arm's' length, it still hurts. We sit side by side in the ring with more than just a bucket of dirty water separating us, and I can't think of a single thing to say to bridge the distance. What good are my classes and my lessons if I can't think of a solution to one of the only problems in my life that actually means something? How many times can I apologize; for lying to her about her prognosis, for Mason's death, for everything?

Rose is still pulling on the loose thread, though now it's much longer than before. I decide that apologizing won't help; that the only way I can truly atone for what I did is to stop keeping things from her. I suck in a deep breath, resigning myself to what I know I have to do; to tell her the story that might not really be mine to tell. "Rose," I say quietly. "There's something I need to tell you."

She stiffens, her features shifting into a practiced neutrality. "If you're here to tell me that  
Sydney also failed to mention to me that I have a tail and an extra row of teeth, don't bother. I'd rather not know."

Her words sting, but I know I deserve them. "It's about the Purge."

This gets her attention. "Excuse me?" she asks.

"The Purge," I repeat. "I asked Christian about it."

"And he told you?" she asks disbelievingly. "That smug little bastard. If I'd known how simple it was to get information out of him, I would have stuck my own tongue down his throat weeks ago."

My eyes widen and my cheeks suddenly burn with embarrassment. "It's not like that," I insist.

"Yes it is," she says, waving a hand at me dismissively. "But I don't care. What is the Purge?"

"You were right," I say simply. "It was the Risk Prevention Department's first mission; the original kill-order. Natasha ordered all of the scientists, scholars, and a decent amount of the small-time politicians to be eliminated."

"Okay," she says, obviously unimpressed by my revelation. "We knew that already, did he tell you why?"

I nod. "Natasha Ozera is the one who orchestrated the attack - the Pulse. The Purge Campaign came after, she had everyone involved with the EMP killed."

"Shit," mutters Rose, raking a hand through a tangled mass of dark hair. "But she didn't stop there, did she? She extended the campaign to anyone who might be able to figure it out."

I sometimes forget that Rose is a former investigator, and that most of her training had been about connecting the dots, about finding a way to fit seemingly disconnected pieces together to form a clear picture.

"Yes," I say, swallowing hard.

"I knew the Executor had problems," says Rose, "But this? The Pulse killed millions of people - she almost exterminated an entire species!"

I nod my head absentmindedly in agreement. My mind drifts back to that horrible day when everything changed. I remember very little of the actual event itself. What I do remember was the house in which I had grown up. The shutters were red and there was a swing on the front porch where I would sit with my mother and father during the summers. It rained a lot there, but it had snowed the night of the Pulse. My entire block had been blanketed with the fresh powder, and it had been cold - cold enough for me to see my own breath hang in the air like smoke when I screamed. Later, those who had survived the destruction guessed that the timing of the attack had not been a coincidence - exposure was one of the leading causes of death following that night.

I'd been young, three. maybe four years old, when I'd felt the wood floor of my living room rumble beneath my tiny feet, followed by a series of deafening booms. There had been a tree in the corner, and it was covered in twinkling lights of every color. An angel sat perched at the top, brandishing a small candle. I remembered loving that angel - I'd been staring at her lovely, feathery wings when all of the lights had suddenly gone out. The room was dark and and deathly quiet. I hadn't cried. I remembered climbing up onto the sofa and pressing my face against the glass pane of the window to see what had happened. Through it, even covered in frost, I could see the night sky, which should have been dark and sprinkled with stars, was burning with white light.

It was a blur after that, but of the few things I had been able to recall, the way the snow had reflected the light of the explosions, was my most vivid memory. The fiery sky and the glistening ground below it had shone like twin mirrors - I'd thought it was beautiful. Everything since that awful night had been dark and cold, and it was all Natasha Ozera's fault.

"What do we do?" she asks bleakly, her tone pulling me from my reminiscing. "What _can_ we do?"

I tilt my head to look at her. "What do you mean? What can we do about _what?_ "

She looks a little angry, but mostly taken aback. "Practically everyone in NAAMA thinks of the Executor as their savior! If we found a way to expose her - we could remove her from power. Don't you get it? There isn't a person alive who didn't lose something to the Pulse, if they knew the truth - the people would have something to unite behind. We could fight back."

"And then what?" I ask. "She controls the military, Rose. Her regime is built on more than just devotion. It would take more than just exposing her to fix this."

Rose shoots to her feet, "I need to talk to Tatiana."

I feel there's more going on that she's not conveying, but before I can scramble after her, a voice calls out to us. "Don't bother."

We both turn to see Christian stalking toward us. He seems to be in a permanent state of agitation these days. Sorting out the refugees from the rehab camp, dealing with the aftermath of the Lone Star raid, and finding a replacement for the captain have all fallen on his shoulders. But I can tell that something else is wrong. He reaches the edge of the ring, but he keeps his gaze averted. "I need you both to come with me." It's a demand, but it lacks his usual conviction and arrogance.

I rise slowly to my feet beside Rose. "Why?"

"It's Victor," he says quietly, and he still won't look at me. He sounds so hopelessly conflicted.

Rose and I suck in matching breaths. I wait for Christian to tell me that my uncle is dead, that the man who raised me - the one who betrayed me, is finally gone.

"He's awake."

* * *

The council voted to expedite Victor's hearing. We'd been expecting as much. Rose sits with Dimitri at the front the council chamber. Her long hair has been braided down her back, and she wears a navy blue uniform presented to her by the ad Salvum, who seem to have accepted her as one of their own. She's agreed to act as a character witness and will present testimony on her dealings with Victor Dashkov. She looks calm on the surface, and even though I know she's had to do this sort of thing at NAAMA military tribunals, I can still sense the unease rippling beneath her calm exterior.

Christian had originally asked me to testify as well, but I refused. Rose's account of what he'd done to her, and to me, will hopefully convey to the council that he's more trouble than he's worth. Sydney Sage had also agreed to appear as an expert witness and present evidence that Victor's ailing health makes him unfit to remain in Portum Lux. She sits beside Adrian, her golden head shining beside his dark curls.

Immediately after Christian had told Rose and me about Victor, we'd gone to work - doing our best to come up with a defense to ensure that Victor wouldn't be allowed to stay in the city. We'd lain out all of the evidence and possible testimony, including a particularly damning set of interrogatories for Christian to ask during the hearing. I just hope it's all enough.

I don't think my uncle even knows I'm here, and that I made it to Portum Lux. For our plan to work, we need to keep it that way. I sit with Mikhail and Sonya at the very back of the chamber, my hair pulled back and my face half-hidden by a thick woolen scarf. The room is completely packed with civilians and guards and I hope that I blend into the confusion.

The air crackles with excitement and anticipation, and I realize that the prospect of being joined by an outsider excites most of the people in Portum Lux. It makes me feel sick.

Someone reaches out and squeezes my hand reassuringly. I'd been staring at the plush carpet of the chamber, and when I look up I see Sonya smiling at me - her lovely face framed by thick red hair. She'd been one of my teachers when I'd still been in Provincial school, but had left the compound before I'd graduated. As children, we'd been told that she was being transferred to a different school. Now I know that she'd been taken to a rehabilitation camp.

"Just say the word and we're gone," she whispers to me.

I nod, too anxious to speak. I wish I could thank her for her kindness, but just then the wide mahogany doors of the chamber swing open. The abruptness does nothing to quell the excited chatter of the people around me, and when Victor Dashkov is rolled into the room seated in a wheelchair, the room explodes with conversation and speculation.

Christian pushes the chair forward, making sure to keep his eye fixed on the smooth marble table behind which the council members await. We're both careful not to seek each other out to avoid drawing Victor's attention to where I sit huddled in the back of the room.

I only allow myself a brief glimpse of Victor as he is wheeled past. He looks no better than he did the first night I saw him arrive. His skin is still patchy and papery thin, and his hair has been completely bleached of color. I see that someone has let him shave, but it doesn't do anything to improve his appearance.

There is an icy pit in my chest where my heart should be beating.

The wheelchair is rolled to the center of the room where a table waits beneath the domed ceiling of the chamber. Christian comes to a halt behind the chair, and then kneels to lower the parking brake, locking the chair into place. Christian's expression is a perfect picture of neutrality as he climbs to the top of the stone dais and takes his seat next to Tatiana.

It's only when Tatiana rises slowly to her feet and surveys the crowd that the room falls silent. "Good evening," she says by way of greeting, but that is where the pleasantries end. "As I'm sure you all recall, we experienced a Code Red last month. For your safety, you were told that the alarm was the result of an unscheduled drill. However, circumstances have now changed, and I must inform you all that the alarm was the result of a perimeter breach, courtesy of the man seated before you." There are a few low murmurs, but no one seems particularly surprised that they'd been lied to. "Victor Dashkov was found unconscious on the outskirts of the city. It was unclear as to whether he would recover from the journey. Now that he has recovered, or at least now that he's awake," she amends, sounding unabashedly superior. "It's time to discuss Victor's future here at Portum Lux."

I fight the urge to be sick, and I'm suddenly grateful that Sonya has yet to let go of my hand. She gives it another gentle squeeze.

"I understand that Councilman Ozera would like to take the lead on this," says Tatiana, her voice high and tight. She nods to Christian who rises to his feet beside her.

We hadn't been sure that Tatiana would agree to let Christian oversee the hearing, but Rose had seemed confident enough that the old woman wouldn't want to involve herself if it could be avoided.

Christian doesn't bother with greetings the way Tatiana had. "Mr. Dashkov," he says coolly. "Let's start from the beginning, shall we? How is it that you learned of our fair city?"

Victor lets out a hacking cough. Even though I can't see the expression I know is pained, I squeeze my eyes shut. He doesn't speak at first, and for a few moments the only sound that fills the room is my uncle's ragged breathing. "Everyone in NAAMA has heard of the Havens," he finally answers, his chest wheezing from the effort of speaking.

"I think you mean to say that everyone would like to _believe_ the Havens are real," Christian responds easily, stepping out from behind the marble table. "Very few ever learn the truth."

Victor's head bobs up and down. "Yes, yes," he agrees. "You all do seem to take pride in how well circulated the myth of your existence is."

Christian's blue eyes sparkle with amusement. I had tried to warn him that it would be impossible to guess how Victor might answer a particular question, but Christian seems unperturbed.

 _Don't let him distract you!_ I silently beg of Christian. I quickly remind myself that he had also spent most of his life as an investigator. Perhaps that was part of the reason Tatiana had been so willing to turn control of the hearing over to him.

"You haven't answered my question," he says chastising. "How is it that you were able to find us?"

Victor's head swivels to the side, and I know without needing to follow his prickly gaze that he is staring at Rose. "It just so happens that this lovely young woman in the uniform led me right to you. She stole information on the Haven investigation from the military," he says smoothly, his voice retaining some of the strength I used to remember despite his frail state. "It was a simple enough task for her to do, considering she's a part of the military."

Rose's former status is old news to the citizens of Portum Lux, but there are still a few hushed whispers and murmurs from the crowd. My friends and I are unphased. We had known that selling Rose out would be the first thing Victor would attempt.

"She's with the Risk Prevention Department if I'm not mistaken, a wolf in sheep's clothing," Victor adds for good measure.

"Yes," says Christian. "As a _former_ investigator, Ms. Hathaway's actions at the Lone Star Holding Facility are legendary. But, as I understand it, you stole that information from Ms. Hathaway after she recovered it."

Victor tries to chuckle, but it dissolves into another fit of coughing. "I assure you that she shared the location of the Havens with me willingly, in exchange for information on the whereabouts of her parents."

My eyes flick to where Rose sits - she hasn't budged, but Dimitri has moved closer to her.

"I see," muses Christian, though we had already explained to him how Victor had stolen the scrap of paper with the Havens location on it from Rose's jumpsuit pocket while she'd been unconscious. "If the dealings between you and Ms. Hathaway were as cordial as you've made them out to be, why is it that the two of you did not travel here together?"

"Because I did not trust her," Victor says simply. "I still don't, and you would all be wise not too either."

Christian clasps his hands behind his back. "Is that because of her status as a former member of the NAAMA military?" he asks, but he doesn't give Victor any time to respond. "Because I think, Mr. Dashkov, you will find that we here at Portum Lux, place a great deal of trust in the men and women brave enough to defect to our cause. Our guard is made up almost entirely of defectors from every branch of the NAAMA military. I, myself, am a former RPD captain."

"I thought as much," drawls Victor. "What was your last name again, boy? _Ozera_?"

The anger that flashes behind Christian's mask of indifference is barely perceptible. "It is."

"Well, _Captain Ozera_ , my mistrust of the girl does not stem from the years she spent hunting down and murdering innocent people, but from what she did to my niece!" Victor's haggard speech has melted into a low growl.

My heart has lodged itself in my throat. This is one of the details we had not been able to account for or predict - how would Victor explain what he had done to me? To my parents? Especially if he thought I hadn't made it to the city, how would he try to cover it up? If we could get him to lie in front of the entire city and council - he would implicate himself right then and there.

"Your niece?" asks Christian, screwing up his face in confusion. "What happened to your niece?"

Victor's head falls forward, and to my surprise, he buries his face in his hands. "I don't know," he rasps. His shoulders are hunched and trembling. "I don't know where she is."

We'd come up with a dozen different scenarios - he would tell the council I was dead, captured, missing - that Rose had killed me or the RPD had taken me. Every possible version of this situation had involved Victor using me for his own gain - _It's what he's done his whole life._

"The last time I saw her, she was point a gun at me," says Victor hoarsely, his head still bowed.

I had come to expect the worst of Victor so often now that I'd forgotten what it would be like to expect the truth.

This time Christian looks genuinely confused. "She what?" he asks, his smooth expression slipping.

"That girl poisoned my niece against me!" snaps Victor, pointing a shaky finger at Rose. "She filled her head with lies about me, and then she took her away!" He tries to rise from the chair, to lunge toward Rose. "Where is she?" he demands. "What have you done with her?"

Rose is the only one who does not move to stop him. Dimitri has risen from his seat, and Christian moves to block Victor's advancement, but Victor is too weak; his feeble attempts are thwarted by his body's own failures.

He slides back into his chair, defeated. The blood rushing through my veins is thrumming with dread, and the excited whispers of the crowd brush up against me like a million tiny pinpricks.

"Poor guy," someone observes in a subdued voice.

"Do you think it's true?" someone else asks.

The dread turns to a fizzing, boiling rage. Victor _is_ using me for his own gain. _He wants them to feel sorry for him_. My hands are shaking so violently that I feel Sonya turn to look at me, but I can't bring myself to meet her gaze. I want to scream.

I wish I had shot him. I realize in that moment that I have never regretted something more in my life.

"Quiet," Tatiana thunders from behind the council table, and the crowd obeys. "Stay seated, Mr. Dashkov," she warns. "Another outburst like that and this hearing will continue on without you."

A chilled look passes between Tatiana and Victor; one that I can't quite see from my seat in the back. Christian clears his throat, straightening his shirt even though it's still neatly tucked into his pants. "It seems that the whereabouts of your niece are too sensitive a subject to discuss at the moment," say Christian crisply. "Let's move on." Victor nods reluctantly, and I let out a small breath. "How long have you known about Portum Lux?" asks Christian.

"A few months," he answers, shrugging his shoulders. "However long Investigator Hathaway has known."

Victor's use of her title does not go unnoticed.

"Of course," agrees Christian. "That makes sense, but Ms. Hathaway has been here with us for nearly two months. What have you been doing all this time?" Christian's demeanor is relaxed, casual, but this question is another one that we had been unable to predict the answer to, and it was one that I desperately wanted to know. _How did he escape? Where has he been the past two months?_

Victor shifts uneasily in the wheelchair. "I'm an old man," he says plainly. "And traveling undetected in NAAMA is not an easy task."

"No it isn't," agrees Christian, taking a step toward Victor. "Which begs the question - how is it that on old man was able to travel thousands of miles without being caught?"

"I had help," says Victor evasively.

 _Bingo_.

It's the perfect segue - if we can't get him to implicate himself by openly lying, then we paint him as a military sympathizer.

"What kind of help?" asks Christian, and I can detect a hint of eagerness in his voice.

This time when Victor rises to his feet, he does so deliberately and his legs do not shake. "I have spent the past seven weeks traveling from compound to compound, visiting with the people of NAAMA and listening to their stories. During that time, I did not come across a single man, woman, or child who was unwilling to help me, whether it was to give me food or offer me shelter."

Christian's eyes flick briefly to Rose, looking for some kind of affirmation that our plan will still work. She dips her chin in a low nod - _keep going_.

"What does this have to do with anything?" asks Christian, his tone clipped.

"Everything," answers Victor, his voice dripping with a familiar conviction. "The Provinces are in a state of turmoil - every compound is experiencing mass unrest. The people are ready,"

"Ready for what?" this time, it's Tatiana who asks. She has emerged from behind the council table, looking on edge.

Victor turns his back on her and Christian. "The people are ready to fight back," he says, addressing the Portum Lux citizens seated all around. "An uprising is coming. The people have been in the dark for too long now, but you all - this city - this is the light at the end of the tunnel."

"Sit down, Mr. Dashkov!" Tatiana shouts, but Victor remains standing.

She yells something else, but her voice is lost in the swell of conversation that has begun bubbling over among the onlookers.

"We cannot wait any longer," urges Victor. "The Executor's rule is vulnerable, and the people are ready to move against her, but they can't do it alone."

Tatiana whispers something to Christian, who gestures at a few of the ad Salvum guards stationed at the back of the room. Two men clad in navy blue uniforms begin moving down the aisle toward Victor.

"Are you really so content with waiting behind the precious walls of your ruined city that you would let your brothers and sisters die at the hands of the Executor and the Risk Prevention Department?" Victor's eyes are lit with rage and conviction, burning like twin coals. "We must act!"

A few people shout in agreement, and the excitement all around grows exponentially. Tatiana looks momentarily horrified. She seems to realize what we had been trying to prove all along - Victor is bad news. His words are like kindling, and the citizens of Portum Lux are ready to burn alongside him.

She holds up a hand at the advancing guards. If she has him dragged out of the room now, she'll turn him into a martyr. Tatiana has to turn this around, or she risks inciting a riot amongst her own people.

I watch as Tatiana takes a deep breath. Turning to Christian, he nods at her in understanding. Pulling a small pistol from the holster at his waist, he fires off one round into the air. Plaster rains down on him and Tatiana, but she doesn't seem to notice or care. She stares stone-faced at the crowd, which has fallen deadly quiet.

Tatiana stiffens, her head held high and shoulders pushed back. "We will act," she says resolutely, her voice ringing out across the expanse of the room. "But we will not do so without careful planning. Need I remind you all of what happens when we act out of passion? Rash plans, even when formed from the best of intentions, get people killed."

Rose visibly flinches. Word of what had happened outside of the facility had spread like wildfire. There wasn't a person in the city who hadn't heard about the last-second change of plan that had resulted in Mason's death.

"We have already begun to infiltrate the Executor's regime, and we have taken steps toward dismantling it," Tatiana continues. "But surely you all realize that this sort of thing cannot happen overnight. It could be years before we are ready to act."

 _Years._ I had never really considered my life in terms of years. Did I really want to spend _years_ waiting for the people of Portum Lux to come together? Rose's words from earlier suddenly come rushing back to me - _There isn't a person alive who didn't lose something to the Pulse, if they knew the truth - the people would have something to unite behind. We could fight back._ We could fight back.

I pull the elastic band from my hair and let it spill down over my shoulders. The scarf goes next - I leave it on Sonya's lap, who stares at me dumfounded as I rise from my seat. Victor has turned his back on the aisle, so he can't see me until I have walked past him and into the center of the room. I take a deep breath, and force myself to meet Tatiana's icy glare. "We don't have years," I say, and I curse my own voice for shaking.

"What are you doing?" Christian hisses, gawking at me with such bewilderment that you'd think I was standing in front of the council without any clothes on.

I ignore him, and turn to face the crowd - and Victor. His green eyes shine with tears, but I ignore that too. My gaze finally lands on Rose; beautiful, strong, confident Rose. I see that she's beaming at me. She understands what I'm about to do, and she knows why I have to do it. _Go on,_ she mouths.

"We don't have years," I repeat, and this time my voice is stronger. "I know a lot of you don't understand what it was like to grow up under the weight of this new world, but I do. Maybe you don't know what it was like to be a little kid, and to live in constant fear of being discovered, of being killed for what you know, but I do - and so I can't wait _years_. Of course Tatiana is content to wait. She remembers a world without concrete walls and red belts, she has something to hold onto, something to remember fondly. I don't have that luxury. No child who has grown up in NAAMA has that luxury. The only thing I've ever had is a fear of darkness and a head filled with facts that could get me killed. So I won't wait years. Not when the world continues to mold children into people just like me - we cannot afford to wait. We _must_ act now."

I'm careful to keep my voice level. I won't beg, but I will make them understand. "We all know that the Executor is responsible for NAAMA, for the restrictions on technology and education, for the rehabilitation camps, and the unchecked power granted to the military. She's always been ruthless, but she'd done it to protect us, right? Every year, on the anniversary of the Pulse she reminds us that her policies are meant to protect our future - that we are safe because we are no longer forced to rely upon the same technology that turned against us. Natasha Ozera was the one to pull this dying nation from the ashes of the Pulse." I pause, swallowing hard, knowing that there is no going back. "And we let her do it, but only because we never knew that she'd been the one to set the fire." The entire room's attention is fixed upon me, and I pray to whoever is listening that I'm doing the right thing. "Natasha Ozera is responsible for launching the scud rockets into the atmosphere, and for the simultaneous explosions that triggered the electromagnetic pulse. This man is not our enemy," I say, acknowledging Victor for the first time. I say it for the people in the room, and I say it for me. "Natasha Ozera is our enemy."

The room explodes in a cacophony of shouts and protest, civilians and soldiers alike all surging forward with their fists raised in the air.

The people are ready to fight back.

* * *

 **Sorry about the wait everyone! Work has been a little crazy, and at first, this chapter was super hard to write. Luckily for me (and you guys) the magnificent hbarker made sure I was still alive and helped me get this update ready to go.**

 **I have so much in store for this story, you don't even realize. Fasten your seatbelts please, maybe even wear a parachute, idk, but get ready!**

 **PS, enjoy what remains of your summer and try not to be like me and cry because the next DPOV installment is out!**


	22. Chapter 22

_**Rose -**_

" _Some say the world will end in fire,_

 _Some say in ice._

 _From what I've tasted of desire_

 _I hold with those who favor fire._

 _But if it had to perish twice,_

 _I think I know enough of hate_

 _To say that for destruction ice_

 _Is also great_

 _And would suffice."_

 _\- Robert Frost_

War is coming.

It will most likely be a long, bloody affair. There is also a small chance of success, and an even larger chance that it will get me killed, but I don't care. I can't stop smiling.

 _We're going to fight back._

Lissa had been brilliant. She's still standing at the center of the council chamber, her head held high and her green eyes blazing with unrestrained passion. The people have started rallying around her, their fists raised in the air. She'd seemed so hopeless in the training warehouse, she'd told me that that revealing the truth about the Executor wouldn't be enough to do anyone any good. What changed her mind? _More like who_ , I guessed.

I tear my eyes away from her, and focus on Victor. He had seemed so frail when Christian had first wheeled him into the room, so unlike the man I had known back at the compound. But Lissa's call to action had been like flipping a switch, and now he is standing almost as tall as his niece. Had his weakness been a ruse, something meant to distract everyone from the bigger picture? Despite what Lissa had told me about the Purge, and despite the newfound resolve of the people of Portum Lux, I still have questions.

The crowds, who pad packed the room during Victor's hearing, finally begin to disperse. The throng around me grows thinner as civilians are gently ushered out by ad Salvum guards. Victor is wheeled out alongside them. I sidestep a few bystanders, my neck craning as I search for the one person I know will have the answers to all my questions.

"Who are you looking for?" a slightly accented voice asks.

I turn to face Dimitri, my long braid swinging behind. "Who said I was looking for anyone?"

He offers me a rye smile. "You've got that look on your face."

His accusation is enough to momentarily distract me from my search. "And what face is that?" I ask, my hands braced on my hips.

"Your plotting face," he tells me, screwing up his features in an expression of caricatured determination.

I let out a scoff, but it quickly melts into laughter as he continues to mimic my _plotting face_. You caught me," I admit. "But it's not a plot, not really. I just need to speak with Tatiana."

His face falls. "Are you sure that's a good idea?"

"Probably not," I admit. "But I think for once, I'm not the one who's at the top of her shit-list."

Both of our gazes drift to Lissa, who's now being escorted out of the chamber by Christian.

"Are you sure it can't wait?" he asks, pushing a lock of dark hair behind his ears. It's even longer now than when we first met.

I shake my head, trying not to get distracted by Dimitri's hair. "It'll be quick," I promise him.

Dimitri raises a brow, looking slightly skeptical. "For some reason I don't believe you."

"For some reason I don't like your tone," I tell him playfully.

He takes one of my hands in his own. "Come find me when you're done," he tells me, giving my hand a gentle squeeze.

I nod, and then watch him follow what remains of the onlookers out of the chamber. By the time I turn back to the room, Tatiana is nowhere to be seen. _No matter_ , I think to myself. There are only so many places she can hide.

* * *

When I push open the heavy door to Tatiana's office, I'm surprised to find that it's dark, save for a small gas lamp that burns on the far side of the room. It's a strange sight when I consider that Portum Lux has never missed an opportunity to show off how advanced the city is technologically, or how comfortably its people live. The light radiating from the lamp is only strong enough to cast a small pool - a bubble of light juxtaposed with the darkness.

The outer edges barely reach Tatiana's silhouette. She's dragged her massive leather desk chair in front of one of the large steel encased windows. When I creep closer, I see that a green glass bottle dangles from the hand she's draped over the armrest of the chair. "Hello, Rosemarie," she calls out, her voice tired. "Pull up a chair."

I squint into the darkness, trying to find one of the other chairs I know is stationed in front of her gilded desk. When I can't locate the chairs, I settle for a small foot stool that lies on its side next to the window.

"How did you know it was me?" I ask, righting the stool with my foot and then lowering myself onto it.

She shrugs and the bottle clinks against the chair. "I didn't. My next guess was Christian."

I glance over at the older woman, but I can barely make out her features in the flickering lamp light. She takes a long swig from the bottle and then lets out a sigh. "I suppose you're here to convince me to take up arms against the Executor."

"I don't really think it matters whether you're on board," I tell her, trying to keep the smugness from my tone. I didn't come here to gloat. "The people have made it pretty clear they want to fight."

"They don't know what they want," she says warily. She hasn't looked at me since I sat down; her eyes are fixed on the night sky that waits on the other side of the glass. The stars are shrouded in darkness, and all that can be seen is utter blackness.

"And you do?" I ask.

She lets out a snort, and my eyes nearly bug out of my head at her reaction. "I used to think I knew, but now…" her voice trails off.

"Now?" I ask, wondering what she had been about to say.

Instead of answering my question, Tatiana extends her arm toward me - offering me the bottle. "Drink," she says sternly, still not looking in my direction.

I hesitate, then take the bottle from her outstretched hand. Clear liquid sloshes around inside of the container, and it smells strongly of alcohol. When I take a wiff, the scent stings the insides of my nose, but I take a sip anyways. It burns my throat all the way down. "Is this gin?" I ask, trying not to choke.

"Something like that," she says, waving a dismissive hand. "Another," she commands. "If you're going to sit here and pester me with questions, you might as well join me."

I force myself to take another drink. The liquid goes down much smoother this time. "Are you trying to take advantage of me?" I ask, confused as to why Tatiana wants to have a drink with me.

She barks out a laugh. "You're a funny girl, Rose Hathaway."

"And you're drunk," I retort.

"That's a fair assumption," she concedes, letting out a heavy sigh. I try to press the bottle back into her hand, but she ignores it. "Why are you here, Rosemarie?"

This time, I don't wait for her to tell me to take another swig from the bottle. I wipe the back of my hand across my mouth before saying, "I came to ask you about the Purge."

Her head rolls to the side and she looks at me for the first time since I sat down. "Why not ask Vasilisa? She seemed quite knowledgeable. I suppose I don't need to ask who told her," she says knowingly. "Christian seems to have developed a soft spot for the girl."

Maybe I just don't care what Tatiana thinks of me any more, or maybe the drink that might be gin has made me braver. Whatever the reason, I don't hesitate when I ask my next question. "I guess what I'm really here to ask is how you managed not to die during the Purge?"

Tatiana turns her gaze back to the window. "I can't believe I ever thought you were stupid," she says in a disappointed voice.

"Thank you?"

She ignores my confusion. "How long have you known?"

I shrug, "A day or two. It didn't make me very long to connect the dots once Lissa told me about the campaign and why it was created. "

I think back to a few days ago, to when Lissa and I had been sitting in the training warehouse and she'd told me the truth about the Purge and its origins. Something about her explanation had pulled at me, and then I'd recalled how Tatiana had reacted during my hearing when I'd told the entire city about the campaign. She'd been angry, but she'd also been scared. Tatiana had ordered me into her office and tried to figure out how much I actually knew. It hadn't been a particularly pleasant experience, but she'd ended up revealing more than I'd ever dreamed she'd tell me - _I knew after what happened with the EMP I would be targeted._

The room falls silent, but the empty moments aren't tense or awkward. The alcohol has muted most of my emotions, and I almost feel calm.

Tatiana's head bobs up and down. "Does anyone else know?"

"Just me," I answer, taking another drink. Now it tastes like water. "Actually," I amend, "Now that I think about it, I don't care how you survived. I think a better question to ask would be _how involved_ were you with the Pulse?"

Tatiana's next breath is little more than a sharp intake of breath. "Natasha Ozera was practically a child when I met her," says Tatiana quietly, but there is no fondness in her voice as she recalls a young Executor. "Brilliant, ambitious, cunning; she had a bright future."

"Where'd she go wrong?" I ask.

"She was convinced that the world was broken," Tatiana says, her voice tinged with sadness. "And more importantly, she was convinced that she knew exactly how to put it back together."

She holds out her hand for the bottle. "Was it broken?" I ask, taking one last sip before giving it back to her.

"Not in the way that Tasha saw. It wasn't perfect," she admits. "Living in a rapid-changing world of electronics and technology can lead to comfort and efficiency, to living longer lives, but it also means contending with a staggering turnover rate for upgrades - a constant stream of change and reliance on things that Tasha believed were not natural to this world." Tatiana pauses to drink deeply from what remains of the gin. "What the rest of the world saw as innovative, Tasha saw as toxic, what we considered to be ground-breaking, she considered to be a perverse imitation of nature. She feared for the generations to come, feared that technology would make them isolated and socially inept."

"She sounds like a nut-job," I say matter-of-factly. "How was she able to convince anyone to help her?" There was no way the Pulse had been a one-woman job.

"It wasn't as hard as you might think," she says, letting go of the bottle. I cringe, waiting for the glass to shatter, but it merely clatters to the floor. "Like I said, the world wasn't perfect. Technology meant the emergence of new forms of terrorism, security breaches, and the growth of an increasingly interwoven global economy."

My head feels suddenly heavy, and it falls to one side as I consider her words, though I'm not sure how much of Tatiana's explanation I'm actually comprehending.

"Do you know of George Washington?" she asks.

My head snaps up, and the room seems to tilt to the side just a little. "Nope," I tell her, "He sounds sexy."

Tatiana lets out a laugh, the most genuine reaction I'd ever seen from her. "Truly, Rosemarie, we should do this more often."

I held up one of my hands in protest. "Let's not get ahead of ourselves. Who is this George guy?"

"He was the first president of the United States of America," she says wistfully. "And in a letter, he urged that the only way our fledgling nation would survive is if we isolated ourselves from the rest of the world. Tasha used to quote him every chance she got - _The great rule of conduct for us, in regard to foreign nations, is in extending our commercial relations to have as little political connection as possible, It is our true policy to steer clear of permanent alliances with any portion of the foreign world_ ," she finished with a hiccup. "Something like that."

"So," I said, slurring just a little. "She thought she'd take the advice of a guy who's been dead for like what, 300 years? And then cram it down everyone's throat in the hopes it would convince them to help her blow up the world?"

Tatiana made a series of frustrated noises. "It wasn't that simple. We come from a long line of greedy, power-hungry leaders, and Tasha knew that. She made promises, and manipulated those who couldn't be bought."

"What's your excuse?" I ask. "Did she pay for your loyalty? Or trick you out of it?"

"I didn't know what she was doing until it was too late," answers Tatiana in a subdued voice. "She'd asked me to introduce her to a few of my colleagues. She needed allies within the military, and I practically gave them to her wrapped in a bow."

"And then you ran," I say, finishing her wayward tale.

She doesn't answer, but her silence is all the confirmation I need. I rise to my feet, and it sets the world spinning. It takes me a moment to get my bearing, and when I do I turn back to Tatiana. She looks at me expectantly, but still doesn't speak. "Right," I say, hoping my voice doesn't sound unsteady. "I'm not going to tell anyone what you did."

"This sounds like the beginnings of blackmail," says Tatiana, but she doesn't protest any further.

"Call it what you want, but you need me to keep my mouth shut. You saw how quickly the people turned on the Executor, if they find out you had anything to do with the Pulse, they'll turn on you too. In return for my silence, you're going to hold a council session, where you will throw all of your support behind Lissa. You will not fight her on this, and you will do everything in your power to help her lead."

Tatiana sighs heavily. "Anything else?" she asks tersely.

"Victor doesn't get to stay," I tell her, a threatening undercurrent to my words.

She opens her mouth to protest, but I've already started walking away.

* * *

The cool night air does little to sharpen my senses. The city spins around me like a top, but when I hold my hand up in front of my face and wiggle my fingers, they move in slow motion. I squeeze my eyes shut, wondering if it's possible that Tatiana drugged me. Though I'm still lucid enough to recall that she had drank more from the bottle than me. It's strangely comforting to know that if I'm going down, she's going down with me.

I suck in a deep breath and open my eyes. _Get it together, Hathaway_. My limbs feel heavy as I force myself to put one foot in front of the other, but I still only narrowly avoid slipping on the stone steps of the capitol building. I somehow manage to navigate the shattered sidewalks of Portum Lux, stumbling around piles of rubble as I go.

When the Duval finally comes into view, I nearly sag in relief. All I want is to fall face first into a down blanket and sleep for three days straight. The stairs seem treacherous and so I head straight for the elevator, jamming my hand against the call button again and again until finally the sleek metal doors part for me to enter. The new suite the Christian had managed to find for me is on the top floor. It hadn't been renovated as cleverly as the others, but it's far enough away that my nightmares don't wake the silently slumbering civilians.

I stumble out of the elevator, fishing through the pockets of my sleek new uniform for a keycard, but I freeze when I see that someone is slumped against my door. There's only one person in Portum Lux with legs that long and shoulders that broad.

"Dimitri?" I call out. His head snaps up immediately, the back of his skull banging against the door.

"Hi," he says, wincing slightly before getting to his feet.

"What are you doing here?" I ask, hoping the words don't come out slurred.

His head falls to one side as he studies me. "You said you would come find me after you talked to Tatiana, and when you didn't, I got worried."

"Oh," is all I can say.

His eyes narrow, and he sniffs at the air around me. "Why do you smell like a distillery?"

"A distiler-what?" I ask, my mouth getting ahead of my brain.

He laughs, the sound low and warm. "You smell like my grandmother."

"She must have smelled lovely," I tell him stiffly, moving past him to swipe the keycard to let me into my room. "Like flowers and freakin' sunshine," I add, throwing the door open.

"Yeva only drank a very distinct Russian vodka," he tells me following me into the room. "I could smell it on her shawl sometimes." The slight strain to his voice as he recalls his childhood tugs at my heart.

"Do you miss your family?" I ask, turning around in time to see him close the door behind us.

"Yes," he answers, though his back is still to me.

The room falls silent, but it doesn't sway around me the way the city had.

"Did you get what you needed from Tatiana?" he asks, walking toward me.

"Only time will tell," I respond with a sigh. "She's tricky when she wants to be."

I wouldn't be surprised if Tatiana found a way to wiggle out of our bargain, but I don't want to think about that right now.

"Lissa told me what you said to her, in the warehouse," he says after a few more moments of silence. "She said that telling the people about the Executor was your idea."

I shrug. "She said it better than I would have."

He shakes his head. "Why do you always do that?"

"Do what?"

"Sell yourself short. You never give yourself enough credit."

"I don't deserve that kind of credit," I say, trying not to sound scornful.

Dimitri is close enough now to wrap his arms around me so that my cheek rests against his chest.  
"Stop that. You think you don't deserve to be recognized for something good, because of what you've done - that your past has left you empty and dark, but Roza," he pauses, his tongue running across his bottom lip. "I have never loved a light brighter than the one I know burns in you."

 _Loved?_

Had Tatiana's drink screwed with my hearing, or had Dimitri just said that he loved me?

I don't get time to really consider his words. His palm is splayed out across my lower back, and he uses the contact to draw me closer to him, so that our hips grind up against each other in a kind of achingly wonderful friction. _Oh God_ , I think. Maybe Dimitri is right; maybe I am a silent guttering flame and he is pure oxygen. Everything about this moment is combustible and our need ignites something in the air that I am perfectly content to let consume me.

Dimitri pulls back slightly, studying me, probably noticing the hungry look that has started to spread over my features. I wrap my arms around his waist and he brings his mouth down to the hollow of my throat, leaving a searing trail of kisses across my neck, my collarbone, his lips brushing against my skin until he reaches my uniform. He pulls at it and now my shoulder is bare as he kisses it too. My breathing is more chaotic than ever and _oh God_.

I waver on my feet, and my head is swimming, but it's not from the alcohol, I am drunk on _him_ , and if I could bottle the way his hands feel on my body, I would get drunk on it every night, I would let it ruin me.

"Dimitri," I gasp even though I hadn't meant to.

I feel his warm laugh ripple across my skin, his mouth still pressed against parts of me I didn't even know I wanted him to touch. The hand on my back slides around and he pulls on one of the gleaming silver buttons that holds my ad Salvum uniform together. He begins undoing them one by one, moving so tormentingly slow that I can feel what remains of my restraint fracture.

It takes every trickle of my strength to pull myself away from him, a devilish smile now playing on my lips. His own lips are swollen and his pupils are blown wide, all of the rich brown of his eyes nearly swallowed whole by the black. I take a step forward, then another, forcing him back until he bumps into the edge of the bed I've never made. I place both hands on his chest, letting them rest there for just a moment, relishing in the way his body thrums beneath my palms, and then I push him down onto the bed with a gentle shove.

I let my eyes rove over the man seated before me, memorizing the way the dark strands of his hair frame his face, the way the hard lines of his face soften when he smiles, but most importantly, I memorize the way he looks back at me - the way I know he's also committing every detail of this moment to memory.

Dimitri reaches out a hand and tugs me toward him. "You are so beautiful, Roza," he tells me, his other hand moving to pull the elastic from my hair. The neat braid I'd forced the strands into this morning begins unraveling almost immediately. "It was the first thing I thought when I saw you."

I can't help but giggle at this admission. "Liar," I whisper. "I was holding a knife to your throat."

"I forgot about the knife," he says, starting to laugh. "Though knife or no knife, I seem to recall that we ended up in a very compromising position."

"You mean this one?" Before he has time respond, I push him the rest of the way down and climb on top of him, my thighs braced on either side of his hips. I bring my face closer to his, my hair falling around us like a curtain.

Dimitri runs the tips of his fingers up my legs until his hands come to rest on my waist. "Hmm," he muses, his voice rich and thick with desire. "Almost, but I think you were just a little bit closer."

"Like this?" I ask, leaning closer to him. We're close enough to share the same breath now, and the scent of him, like cinnamon and burning wood and the pressed pages of a book, fills me from the bottom up.

He answers me with a kiss. It's light at first, barely more than the brush of lips against lips, but it deepens with every thundering beat of my heart. Our mouths part long enough for me to help him out of his T-shirt, and then his nimble fingers move down the front of my uniform, undoing buttons as he goes.

Every movement, every shuddering breath, every flutter of lashes feels like a surge of lightning, igniting the air around us, my nerves, my need.

"Roza," he breaths, but my name is nearly smothered by my own mouth.

I'd never cared much for my name, it had only ever been an identifier in the military - little more than a serial number. Then it had marked me as wanted, as a fugitive, a name associated with infamy and destruction. But the way Dimitri says it, the way the sound rolls off of his tongue, the way his accent curls around the syllables like a caress, he makes my name sound like a one-word prayer.

One of my hands travels further south, toward the waistline of his pants, but he grabs at it before I can go any further.

"Wait," he says, barely having enough air to gasp out the word. "We don't have to do this."

"You make it sound like it's a bad thing," I say, laughing nervously, then moving forward to pick back up where we had left off.

Dimitri presses his hands gently against my shoulders, warding off any advances. "I'm serious, Rose. I don't want you to do this for the wrong reasons."

 _Wrong reasons?_

I pull away, rolling to the side so that I'm propped up on my elbows beside him on the bed. "What are you trying to say?" I ask, my cheeks flushed and my eyes averted.

I know he's looking at me when he answers. "You've been so sad," he says simply. "You haven't been yourself, not since Mason died." I find that I can't recall a time when Dimitri had sounded so unsure of himself, but he presses on anyways. "I just don't want you to look back on this moment and regret what happened afterward."

My lower lip trembles slightly, but I do my best to clear my mind of all the pain, all of the tragedies, and all of the horrible things I have seen and done. I focus on the good: Dimitri is one of the last good things left in the world. "The only regrets I have where you're concerned involve time." I say quietly, but I can't look at him. I'm too scared that I'll lose my nerve. "I wish I could go back in time and change the past - the way we met, the things that brought us together. And if I couldn't change that, then I would wish for more time in the future, a guarantee that we would get to spend the rest of our lives getting to know each other and falling in love. But there is no guarantee that we'll get that time. Mason's death did change me, because it's forced me to realize how unlikely it is that we'll get the time that we want or deserve."

My vision has blurred over slightly, but I turn my head to look at Dimitri anyways, not caring that my eyes have glossed over with unshed tears. "The only thing we have control over is how we choose to spend the time that is given to us, and I choose this. I love you and I choose you."

Dimitri's eyes are fixed on me – twin pools of molten ore. "You love me?" he asks, sounding as if he both desperately wants and fears the answer to his question.

I nod my head up and down, too overwhelmed to continue speaking, but luckily I don't need to respond with words. He reaches out a hand to cup my cheek, and I press myself against his touch.

This time when our lips meet, it feels the same, and yet vastly different somehow.

"I love you too, Roza," he whispers, his moving against my own.

Hands pull at clothes until there is nothing left but burning flesh against flesh, until we dissolve into nothing but friction and a symphony of heavy breathing. We cling to each other like our embrace is the only thing holding the universe together, and for all I know it is.

After, I realize after that love is not measured in beats or kisses, but in the moment between breaths - it's the space between what's new and what's next. It's leaping through faith and never letting go.

* * *

 **BOOM.**

 **I just did that, hope you enjoyed it.**

 **I had one too many glasses of wines and decided to finish and post this update at 1:30 in the morning. (I was just really excited, can you blame me?)**

 **Leave me a review! I love reading your reactions!**


	23. Chapter 23

_**Vasilisa -**_

" _Sacrifice is a part of life. It's supposed to be. It's not something to regret. It's something to aspire to."_

 _Mitch Albom, The Five People You Meet in Heaven_

The people of Portum Lux are surging all around me like a raging sea, their fists raised and faces burning with conviction. _They want to fight back._ I can barely hear their shouts over the blood rushing in my ears, and the adrenaline pulsing through me feels like liquid lightning. _They want to fight back_. It's almost too much, and I have to fight the urge to bolt out of the room to escape the chaos - chaos that I caused.

I turn around slowly, trying to find something to focus on - to keep me grounded. Hands clap me on the back, and a few of the citizens have tears in their eyes. They're thanking me; saying they'll fight with me. My eyes land on Victor. His smile is strange and familiar all at once - despite the fact that his teeth are framed by cracked lips and his twinkling green eyes have nearly been swallowed whole by the heavy folds of his lids. He takes a step toward me, but an ad Salvum guard is quick to stop him. The guard pushes Victor back down into the wheelchair, and he is powerless to fight back. Without having made the conscious decision, I feel myself move toward him. Before I make it very far, a familiar face fills my line of sight.

"Lissa!" Christian exclaims, his voice is thrumming with excitement but still edged with something that could be dread. His dark hair has been slicked back, making the expression on his face more prominent. _He looks scared_.

If I could effectively punch myself in the face, I would. I had been so caught up in the moment, so convinced that telling the truth was the right thing to do, that I hadn't considered what it would do to Christian. It's no secret that the Executor is his aunt, and no one has ever faulted him for it, but that could all change now that the people of Portum Lux know what she's done.

His hand finds my elbow, and he begins to lead me away. "You were brilliant," he says, leaning in to whisper into my ear. I try not to visibly sag with relief. "Come on, we need to get you out of here before Tatiana tries to have you arrested," he says, tugging on my arm.

I hear people call out for me, but I do my best to focus only on the warmth of Christian's touch as he leads me out of the council chamber. The cool night air helps to soothe me, and I gulp it down in huge, heaving breaths. Christian and I come to a stop at the bottom of the marble steps so that I can get my ragged breathing under control.

"Miss Dragomir!" someone calls out. We turn to see a man running down the steps toward us, waving one hand in the air.

"I don't think anyone has ever called me Miss Dragomir," I mutter to Christian just as the man reaches the bottom step. He has stringy brown hair and an unremarkable face that is completely unfamiliar to me.

"Can I help you?" I ask, sounding a little confused, but mostly impatient.

"What you said in there," he says, speaking in short gasps, but I can't tell if it's from excitement or because he had just chased me down a flight of stairs. "It was incredible - inspiring!"

"Thank you," I say in a small voice. "It was nothing though, I just thought the people should know the truth."

He shakes his head fervently "It was more than that," he insists, his tongue darting out to wet his lips. "They should put you on the council!"

Thankfully, Christian saves me from having to tell this man that his idea is ridiculous. I am not a leader. "Aren't you one of the refugees?" Christian asks, narrowing his eyes at the man. "From the rehabilitation camp?"

The man stiffens, "I am," he confirms in a clipped voice.

"Thought so," he replies. "Miss Dragomir has had a long night…"

The man raises his hands defensively. "Of course, of course," he says, backing away. "Enjoy your evening." He backs up and then turns to run back up the marble steps of the hall.

Christian and I stare at him until he has disappeared back into the giant stone structure. "That was weird," I say, shivering slightly from the encounter.

Christian shrugs and then starts walking toward the Duval. "Why is it weird? He was complimenting you."

"Yeah, but the whole 'you should be on the council' thing. What was that all about?" I ask, following.

Christian turns to stare at me, but his pace doesn't slow. "That you _should_ be on the council. The people see you as a leader now - a sign of hope. Portum Lux has never looked at Tatiana the way they looked at you tonight, and I've never seen her look angrier." The weight of what I've done crashes over me like a wave breaking on the shore, and I freeze in my tracks. Christian doesn't notice at first, as he continues walking, still talking animatedly about the look on Tatiana's face when I'd stood up. "I thought she was going to throw a tantrum," he says, laughing and tilting his head to the side before realizing I'm no longer by his side. "Lissa?" he asks, turning around in circles until he sees me standing a few paces behind. "Lissa, what are you doing back there?" I can't really think of an explanation and so I settle for blinking at him like a doe-eyed moron. "What's wrong?" he asks, striding purposefully toward me.

"I - I am not a leader," I stammer out. "I don't want to be a sign of hope for anyone."

Christian has the decency to look only mildly confused. "What you did in there," he says, pointing back to the capitol building, "was unprecedented. Sure, people have talked about moving against NAAMA but never on this large of a scale, and they've never had something to bring them together. Not like this. You've given them hope, Lissa." He pauses to rest his hands gently on my shoulders, fixing my eyes with his own. "Whether you meant to or not."

I take a deep breath, but it does nothing to quell my panic. "Fine," I concede. "But that doesn't mean I should have to lead or give orders."

"You're the spark, Liss," he says, squeezing my shoulders.

"So what?" I say, brushing his hands away and marching toward the Duval. "I only ever meant to get the ball rolling. I'm just one girl. I can't change the world, and I shouldn't be expected to."

He grabs at my hand, and I spin around to face him, my eyes burning with conviction. I pause when I see that Christian's eyes mirror my own. "We change the world with every choice we make. You made a choice tonight, and there's no going back, not now." My face falls, but Christian cups my cheeks with both hands, his own expression softening. "But that doesn't mean you have to do it alone." His thumb brushes over my bottom lip, sending tremors through my entire body. He leans in, kissing me softly, slowly, and the whole world stops spinning for just a moment. I wonder if maybe my autonomic functions even work around Christian, I wonder if maybe I need to remind my heart to beat, to remind my lungs to breath. "Come on, it's late," he whispers, pulling away. The world is spinning again.

We decide to end the night soon after. Christian walks me back to my room, kissing me goodnight and telling me to get some rest, reminding me that tomorrow will be a big day. I resist the urge to tell him that tomorrow will be no different than any other day, but I know he's right. Whether I like it or not, my world is about to change.

As soon as Christian closes the door to my suite I let out a deep moan and crawl right into bed, not bothering to put on my pajamas. It's a strange feeling to have the bed all to myself. I still haven't gotten used to _not_ being kicked in the shins all night, even though Rose hasn't slept here in weeks.

Someone knocks, and I make a series of frustrated noises even though I hadn't actually been asleep. "Christian," I sigh, padding toward the door. "What is it now?" When I open the door, however, it isn't Christian standing there. "Dimitri?" I say, partly in question and partly in greeting. "What are you doing here?"

"I was wondering if you had seen Rose?" he asks, leaning against the doorframe, his arms folded across his chest.

I frown, trying to remember the last time I had seen her. "Not since the hearing."

"Hmm," he muses. "I thought maybe she might have come here."

I immediately stiffen, "Is she okay?" I ask.

"She's fine," he says soothingly. "She went to talk to Tatiana after the hearing, but I didn't think it would take this long."

"Why would Rose voluntarily have a conversation with that old bat?"

Dimitri shrugs and laughs, the sound low and warm. "She never acts without a purpose, and I've learned that it's better to just wait and see what she does instead of asking questions." The fondness in his voice is so genuine and so pure that I can't help but smile at him.

"Fair enough," I say, still beaming.

A few moments pass before Dimitri unhitches himself from the doorframe. "If you see her, will you remind her she promised to come find me?"

I nod, "Will do."

He turns to go, but before I close the door he turns his head over his shoulder, his dark hair swaying, and says. "I'm proud of you, by the way, for standing up. I know how hard that must have been, and whatever you decide to do next, I'll stand beside you."

"Thank you," I whisper, trying not to choke on the words.

The door to my suite closes with a soft click, and I fall against it, feeling suddenly heavy and light all at once. To my surprise, I don't feel any fear. _I'll stand beside you_ , not behind - not waiting for orders - _beside._ I wonder if Dimitri had known just how badly I needed to be told that, and I wonder if Christian had known how much I needed him to tell me that I didn't have to carry on alone. I smile to myself, thankful for the people in my life, and I even let myself think - just for a moment - that everything might turn out okay.

* * *

Someone is pounding on my door. I sit up in bed, bleary-eyed and confused. _This can't be good_ , I quickly decide. The only people I would want to come knocking on my door in the morning have keycards. The pounding grows louder, more persistent, and I untangle the sheets from around my legs and walk sluggishly to the door.

Now the knocking is accompanied by shouting. "Open up!" an angry voice commands.

My outstretched hand freezes on the door handle. "Who is it?" I ask.

I hear a muffled conversation taking place on the other side of the door, and just as I lean forward to press my ear against the smooth paneling another voice says. "Move over!"

The electronic lock clicks and the door opens, revealing a very flustered looking Christian and a very wrathful looking Jared Sage.

"Good morning," Christian says, trying to sound cheerful, but a storm is raging within his sea blue eyes.

"What's going on?" I ask.

Jared adjusts his posture, throwing his shoulders back and raising his chin. "There's been an incident," he says coolly. "We need you to come with us."

Christian doesn't say anything, he just nods in my direction, as if he were trying to tell me that it's okay - that everything is okay.

"What sort of situation?" I ask.

"It's of a sensitive nature," the man says, his voice taut as a wire. "It would be better if we spoke in private."

I look back and forth the two men, hoping one of them will give something away, but each wears a matching impassive expression.

"Fine," I concede. "Just let me get dressed."

Jared's eyes darken. "You have two minutes."

* * *

Jared and Christian lead me down one of the wings of the capitol building and into a small room at the end of a corridor. The room is almost completely empty, save for a table and two chairs. Jared gestures for me to take a seat as he sits down in the one directly across. Christian has stationed himself behind Jared, his arms crossed, and his expression a chiseled mask of practiced indifference. However, I can still sense the rage boiling beneath the surface.

"What is this about?" I demand, hoping my voice betrays none of the fear that snakes along my bones. All I had been able to think about the entire walk over to the capitol building is that something has happened to Rose, Dimitri, Adrian, Mikhail, or Sonya. Another part of me dreads that this meeting is about Victor.

Jared clears his throat, taking his time, as he folds his hands on the table in front of him. "This may or may not come as a shock to you," he says before pausing. There's something about his tone, his smirk, that makes me want to scream at him. "Tatiana was found dead in her office this morning."

I clench my teeth so that my jaw doesn't drop open. When I do finally open it to speak, nothing comes out. _Tatiana is dead?_ "When? How?" I manage to croak.

"Stabbed," Jared says coolly. "Sometime in the night."

I shudder at the image that fills my mind - of what Tatiana must have looked like - her white hair sprayed red with blood, her green eyes wide, glassy and unmoving. My stomach is tying itself in knots, and I suddenly feel like I'm going to throw up. I look down at my hands, cradled in my lap, and I ball them into fists until I can feel the nails digging into my palm. "That's terrible," I whisper.

"A tragedy," agrees Jared, but his voice lacks sympathy. "And there will be a time to mourn her loss, but that time is not now."

I swallow hard, forcing down the lump that has risen in my throat and nod in agreement. "What can I do to help?" I offer.

Jared leans back in his chair. "We were hoping you would be willing to answer a few questions. Nothing serious. Just a simple conversation."

"Okay," I say, my voice shaking.

"When was the last time you saw Tatiana?"

"Last night," I blurt out. "During Victor's hearing." I feel heat creeping up the back of my neck, rising until my cheeks burn.

"Ah yes," muses Jared. "The hearing. That was some speech you gave." I mentally prepare myself for Jared's reaction. Would he try to convince me to lead? "You seemed very upset with Tatiana's leadership."

This time there's nothing I can do to disguise my gaping mouth. Jared doesn't want my help and this isn't a conversation - it's an interrogation. My eyes dart to Christian, and his expression is pained. He knows I've finally figured out what's happening. "No," I say quickly, scrambling for an explanation. "That's not - that's not why I spoke - I just, I wanted to tell the people the truth. I-"

"You wanted to start a revolution," he retorts, cutting me off. "You've been here for months, going to school, befriending the people - biding your time," he adds for emphasis. "Waiting for the perfect opportunity to stage your coup. What better forum than at your _uncle's_ hearing after he's just told some pretty story about how the provinces are ready to unite."

"No!" I snap, feeling my fear turn to anger.

"Then," he continues, "It seemed like everything was going to work out, didn't it? But there was still one last thing you needed to take care of; one last person standing in your way."

"I didn't kill Tatiana!" I shout, trying to leap to my feet but my knees bang up against the table and Jared's hand moves to his hip, to where he has a small firearm strapped in a holster, but he remains in his seat.

"Now now, Miss Dragomir," he says coolly, condescendingly. "I never said you killed Tatiana."

My eyes flick to Christian, and I find that he's moved closer, and that his own hand is hovering over the breast pocket of his jacket where I know he keeps his pistol, the one he'd fired in the middle of Victor's hearing. I find myself momentarily distracted, wondering if every citizen in Portum Lux is allowed to carry a weapon, or just the members of the council.

"Where were you last night between 2 and 6 AM?" Jared inquires.

"In my room," I say in as firm a voice as I can muster. "Sleeping."

"Is there anyone who can attest to that?"

"I can," says Christian, walking around the table to stand behind me.

Jared raises a single brow. "Can you?"

Christian is the perfect picture of neutrality. "I walked her back to her room last night."

"I hope you're not about to tell me you stayed the night." Jared's tone is light, almost mocking. I can feel Christian hesitate, even if I can't actually see him do it. "Because you already told the Council that you were in the surveillance room all night. So which is it?"

My stomach drops.

"I didn't stay long," admits Christian. "But the cameras would have seen something if she had left her room."

"Unless someone wiped that footage and looped a pre-recorded reel into the feed," he responds.

"How the hell would I have known how to do that?" I demand.

"You're a smart girl, Vasilisa. A smart girl who has managed to cozy up to a council member with access to the surveillance room."

"Are you saying I had something to do with this?" Christian demands through gritted teeth.

"I'm saying she probably knows exactly how to take advantage of a person."

"This is ridiculous," says Christian, gripping the back of my chair. "It's all just speculation."

"We all heard her speech last night. She wants a war," Jared says, pointing an accusatory finger.

"Yes, with the Executor! Not Tatiana!" I cry out.

Jared looks unconvinced. "Can anyone else, besides Councilman Ozera, corroborate your story?"

"Dimitri stopped by my room a little after Christian left," I say, trying not to sound hopeful.

"Two men in one night?" Jared needles.

"Excuse me?" I growl, momentarily forgetting that I'm being interrogated. "He just wanted to talk."

"What about?" Jared probes.

"He wanted to know if I had seen Rose."

Jared's brown eyes narrow at me. "And had you?"

"Not since the hearing, Dimitri said she had to -" Christian cuts me off before I get the chance to finish my sentence.

"Can we have a moment?" Christian ask, his breathing heavy. "Alone, please."

Jared looks reluctant, and he considers the request for longer than was probably necessary. "Okay," he agrees. "While I'm gone, I think the two of you should consider who your real friends are, and then think long and hard about what you really want and what you're willing to sacrifice to get it."

Jared exits the room swiftly, leaving his ominous warning hanging in the air like smoke. Christian moves to the other side of the room and slumps down in the chair that Jared has just vacated.

"Shit," he mutters, resting his head in his hands. "This is bad."

"They can't possibly pin this on me," I say, trying to reassure him, and myself.

"They don't _want_ to pin this on you," says Christian quietly. "Jared just wants to scare you."

"Well he's doing a great job," I reply bitterly. "Color me terrified."

"Didn't you hear him?" asks Christian, growing more frustrated with each passing moment. "He said to think about who our real friends are."

I sit up in my chair. "So? He probably knows we would try to protect each other."

"No, Lissa," he says, sounding even more agitated than before. "I think Jared is going to go after Rose."

"Rose?" I squeak, my panic rising to flood levels. I think back to last night, to Dimitri telling me that she had gone to speak with Tatiana, a fact I had nearly revealed to Jared. Could Rose really have killed Tatiana? "No," I respond forcefully. "Rose wouldn't do this - she wouldn't kill someone in cold-blood. I'm the one who called Tatiana out. I'm the one who turned the people against her. Jared should be focusing on me." _Not Rose, not this, anything but this._

"Jared is smart," Christian say, not meaning it as a compliment. "Either of you would make the perfect culprit, but he knows he doesn't have enough evidence to convict either of you, not without one of you confessing, or…" his voice trails off, but his expression hardens.

"Or what?" I demand.

"Or one of you turning on the other," he finishes.

"No," I say immediately, throwing my shoulders back and crossing my arms in front of my chest. "No way. Rose wouldn't do that to me, and I won't do it to her."

Christian doesn't respond, and I fix my gaze on him. I can still recall the first time I had seen him, standing atop the dias, his blue eyes flashing. I can still recall the way I'd thought that looking at this man was like looking out of your window on a winter day and seeing nothing but endless gray sky and barren trees. Even though you couldn't actually feel the chill or the biting air, you knew it was cold. Now I know better. Christian isn't cold. A wildfire burns beneath his cool exterior; a kind of raging passion that he's somehow managed to keep contained all these years. However, it's not contained now. His hands, still lying on the table, are clenched in white-knuckled fists, and I can practically feel the air crackling all around us.

"Lissa, please," he begs through gritted teeth. "I'm not asking you to turn Rose in, but you have to give them something - anything."

The tips of my fingers press down on my temples in frustration. "Don't you think I would if I had anything to give? Rose didn't do this, and Jared isn't going to find any evidence that says otherwise. But me? Everyone saw me stand up to her last night. I called her out in front of the entire city and then gave a speech promoting violence and warfare. The only way I could seem more culpable is if my hands were literally coated in her blood."

Christian winces at my exaggeration, but recovers quickly. "They can't pin her murder on you just because the motive fits. The only way to get Jared off of our backs for good is to find out who actually killed Tatiana."

I throw my arms up in frustration. "You heard Jared! The council can't afford to drag out this investigation for too long, and that means the bar for conviction is probably set pretty low. If Jared can't convict Rose or the real killer, he'll settle for me," I snap at him. He doesn't deserve it, but I can feel myself beginning to unravel. "I'm surprised they even bothered to question me. Why not go at this investigation RPD style, and just assume I killed her and then get the execution over with?"

"No!" Christian shouts, slamming one of his fists against the table. "That's not going to happen," he says in a low snarl. "The council isn't going to touch a single hair on your head."

Dread coils in my stomach. "What can you do?" I ask, and my question fractures something behind Christian's perfect blue eyes. "I didn't mean it like that," I say quickly, reaching a hand across the table, my fingers fumbling as I try to take Christian's hand in mine. "I only meant that you can't do anything to help me, not without implicating yourself or Rose."

Christian flinches at my touch, but then he laces his trembling fingers with mine. "You think I care about implicating myself?" he asks, a small sad laugh escaping his lips. "I could tell them I did it. I had the means and the motive."

"Christian," I murmur, and saying his name feels like breathing fire. "No. They'll kill you." The thought is almost too terrible to even say out loud, but it springs up in my mind like a weed, ugly and deeply rooted.

"Let them," he says quietly. He pulls his hand away from mine and rises slowly to his feet, turning so that his back is to me, as if he can no longer bear to face me. "This world has taken almost everything from me: my parents, my innocence, my ability to make my own choices. I don't have a lot left for them to take, so what difference would my life make?" The earnestness of his voice breaks my heart. "But you," he adds, his head turning to the side so that I can barely see one pale cheek. "I would burn down the world if they ever took you." Christian moves too quickly for me to react, his hand reaching for the door and yanking it open. "I'm going to fix this," he promises, right before he slams the door shut behind him, leaving me completely alone in the small room.

"Christian!" I shout, practically leaping over the table that had separated us. The chair falls backward onto the ground with a clang, and I scramble across the room. "Christian, wait!" I beg, my hands fumbling for the doorknob and then yanking on it in desperation. "Don't do this! Christian, come back!" My pleas quickly dissolve into screams as my fists pound against the locked door.

"I did it!" I shout, frantic to come up with something, anything that would force someone to open the door. "I killed Tatiana! I stabbed her right in the chest!" Silence. "I needed her dead," I hiccup, sinking down onto my knees, the palms of my hands sliding along the door as I fall to the floor. "I killed her," I say again, but no one is listening.

 _I killed Tatiana_

 _I killed Tatiana_

 _I killed Tatiana_

I say the words over and over again like a wretched prayer, until I've half-convinced myself that I _did_ kill Tatiana, but the door to my make-shift cell remains locked.

* * *

 **Hey everyone! Sorry for the delay, my semester is about to start and I am swamped! I hope you all enjoyed this update because there are only four left! The outline for** _ **Awake**_ **is good to go so I'm hoping to pick that up ASAP.**

 **A special thank you to hbarker - who catches my ridiculous mistakes ( I tried to say calibrate instead of corroborate? Like what?) and who also checks up on me, I am forever indebted to you!**

 **I love love love reading your reviews, even if it's just to say hi!**


	24. Chapter 24

_**Rose -**_

" _Don't let us forget that the causes of human actions are usually immeasurably more complex and varied than our subsequent explanations of them."_

― _Fyodor Dostoyevsky_ _,_ _The Idiot_

I can't recall the last time I slept through the night without waking; not since Mason's death. Every night, my dreams are spangled with red - red blood, red belts, red hair and freckles. But not the night of Victor's hearing, not the night I spent with Dimitri.

When I awake the next morning, I feel lighter somehow - like the first day of spring, still clinging to the long winter's chill. Dimitri's arms are wrapped around me, seeming to shield me from the dark thoughts that used to permeate my subconscious in the night. His chest is pressed against my back, and I can feel his steady breathing ripple through me with every exhale.

"Good morning," he murmurs against the nape of my neck. The feeling of his breath against my skin sends shivers down my spine.

I roll over to face him, careful to move so that his arms stay where they are. He wiggles closer to me and I am pleased to find that he has a goofy grin on his face to match my own.

"Good morning to you too," I say, practically giggling as I do.

I would give anything if the world would just stop spinning so that this moment could hang suspended in time - so that we could live in infinite bliss, wrapped in the warmth of our own bodies and feathered down blankets.

One single, frantic knock at my door is all it takes to shatter the illusion.

The knock is followed by a plea. "Rose!" the accompanying voice calls. "Rose, please open the door!"

Dimitri raises himself up on an elbow and peers down at me. "Is that Christian?" he asks, his voice still thick with a mixture of desire and exhaustion.

"Rose!" the voice calls again.

I roll over so that my face is buried in the pillow. "I doubt it," I tell him in a muffled voice, though whoever is knocking is definitely male. "Christian doesn't know how to knock."

"It's Lissa!"

Now I know the voice belongs to Christian. No one else speaks her name with that kind of conviction, and the edged tone to his words sends me scrambling toward the door with nothing but a sheet wrapped around my bare shoulders.

I throw open the door, not caring that the thin cotton fabric is the only thing covering me. "What is it?" I demand. "What's wrong?"

Christian pushes past me and into my suite. "Close the door," he growls.

I do as he says, watching the way Christian stalks further into the room, his fingers raking through the dark tendrils of his hair.

"Christian, what's wrong?" I ask again.

His head snaps up, and his eyes dart between Dimitri and me - taking in our exposed and disheveled state. When he doesn't snort or comment on the fact that we are both completely naked, it confirms that something horrible has happened.

His hands drop to his sides and he takes a sharp breath that seems to suck the air out of the room like a vacuum. "Tatiana is dead."

I shake my head, and out of the corner of my eye I see Dimitri throw his legs over the side of the bed and attempt to discreetly pull on his sweat pants.

 _Tatiana is dead_.

 _Tatiana is dead._

The words play on a loop in my head but they don't sink in; they float on the surface of my mind and I wish I could find a way to drown them.

"Stabbed through the heart," continues Christian.

He says something else, but I'm not listening, my own heart is stuttering in my chest like a failing engine. "Lissa," I whisper. "You said this was about Lissa."

Christian's expression goes slack and then warps with pain, looking as if someone has slipped a knife between his ribs. "Jared Sage took her in for questioning twenty minutes ago," he says quietly, but I don't miss the malicious way he speaks Jared's name. I have never had the pleasure of actually speaking with Sydney's father, but his reputation for harsh enforcement of the rules has proceeded him. The thought of him questioning Lisssa fills me with equal parts ire and revulsion.

"She didn't do it!" I shout, my fists bunched in the sheets, twisting the fabric around my fingers in anger.

"Obviously!" Christian shouts back, throwing his arms in the air. "But Jared is on the warpath, and I know he'll do anything to pin this on someone and get the trial over with."

Dimitri is suddenly standing next to me, fully dressed, my ad Salvum uniform in his arms. "What happens if Lissa is convicted?" he asks Christian in a controlled voice.

"I'm not sure," says Christian, shaking his head in dismay. "This situation is sort of unprecedented. The harshest punishment ever passed down is exile, but something tells me that the council wouldn't hesitate to put the killer in front of a firing squad."

I fight the urge to be sick, but Dimitri saves me from having to fully consider Christian's words. "Get dressed," he tells me, pushing my uniform toward me.

I take it from him and march into the bathroom. When the door closes behind me, I fall back against it and squeeze my eyes shut. Po _rtum Lux is not the Risk Prevention Department_ , I tell myself. _Just because Lissa is being questioned doesn't mean she's being tortured._ But the image of Lissa's blonde head being dunked into a tub of filthy water fills my mind, of her limbs flailing out in every direction while someone's hand forces her head beneath the surface, keeping her submerged until her body goes limp.

 _Stop it!_ I tell myself, my eyelids flying open. _I have to be strong._ I have to find a way to get Lissa out of this mess. I steel myself, pulling on the navy blue uniform. I'm still fastening the silver buttons when I emerge from the bathroom to see Christian and Dimitri's heads bowed in conference.

"What's the plan?" I ask them, searching the room for my boots among piles of discarded clothes.

Dimitri, now fully dressed, watches me, his dark eyes filled with unrestrained panic. "We have to pull the focus away from Lissa," he says in a surprisingly calm voice that clashes with the worry that rolls off of him in waves. "And that means finding out who actually murdered Tatiana."

I take a steadying breath. "Right," I agree, finding my boots and yanking them on one at a time. "We just have to solve a murder before some raging asshole pins it on my best friend - simple."

Despite my sarcasm, it really is a good a plan, or at least as good as anything we could hope for. My mind begins immediately racing through names, faces, and motives. Victor seems like the obvious suspect, but when I recall how fragile he'd looked during the hearing, how age and sickness had ruined him…Hurried whispers interrupt my thoughts and I look up just in time to see Dimitri and Christian exchange a troubled glance.

"There is no _we_ ," Christian says, refusing to look me directly in the eye

My spine stiffens. "Excuse me?"

Dimitri intervenes just then, seeming to sense my rising anger. "Lissa isn't the only one in danger here," he says, placing a hand on my shoulder. "If Jared can't come up with enough evidence to charge Lissa, you'll be his next target."

I pull away from him, shaking my head in defiance. "You don't know that."

"Yes," says Christian. "I do."

I take a step toward him. "How can you know that?"

"Where were you last night?" he asks in a low voice.

"Here!" I insist. "With Dimitri." Color floods my cheeks but I do my best to ignore it.

"Before that," says Christian impatiently.

Realization slams into me like a truck.

"Exactly," says Christian bitterly. "Aside from whoever killed her, you were probably the last person to see Tatiana alive. That doesn't look good for you, Rose."

"Then why go after Lissa at all?" I demand. "Why her?"

 _Why not me?_

"Because right now Lissa is the biggest thorn in the council's side, she practically incited a riot last night."

 _Christian is right_ , I realize. It makes sense to go after Lissa. The head of Portum Lux's leadership was murdered by one of their own, and the council can't afford to drag out this investigation for long. The council is also probably hoping to avoid a war with the Executor. If Lissa is executed for high-treason, Jared Sage will have put out two fires with just one bucket of water.

"What do you need me to do?" I ask in a shaky voice.

"Jared is checking in with Sydney right now," says Christian in a newly levelled tone. "She's the one who performed the autopsy, and he'll want more details before he proceeds with the investigation. He left me alone with Lissa for a few minutes, but I came here instead. Jared doesn't know."

"What about the cameras?" I ask.

"Eddie is in the surveillance room right now, he's looping a blank feed into the reel," he pauses, glancing down at his watch. "We are invisible for the next 12 minutes, until the shift change."

"Jared will bring you in for questioning next," Dimitri says, continuing the explanation of whatever plan he and Christian were able to throw together while I got dressed.

"We need you to distract Jared," says Christian. "For as long as possible."

I raise my brows in question. "How exactly would you like me to go about _distracting_ him?"

"I thought you would just be your usual, infuriating and evasive self," says Christian with a shrug. "And in the meantime, Belikov and I will find out who really did this."

 _I should be the one doing the investigating_.

As if sensing my hesitation, Dimitri steps in front of me and rests his hands gently on my shoulders. "I know you want to help Lissa," he says, "but that means letting Christian and I handle this part. We can't do that without you buying us the time we need to get it done."

Dimitri takes my silence as acceptance of their plan, and he leans in to press a kiss to my forehead before pulling away, rewarding me for my compliance. We spend the next few minutes fleshing out as many details as possible, but our plan still feels flimsy.

"Go to training," says Christian, guiding me toward the door with Dimitri in tow. "Go about your day as if nothing is wrong and wait for Jared to come to you."

The three of us pause on the threshold of my suite. "Remember," Christian adds. "You haven't spoken with me, and that means you would have no way of knowing that Tatiana is dead. Act _surprised_."

I scowl at him. "This isn't my first rodeo."

"Right," Christian agrees. "Wait for the cameras to go live again and then head down to training."

"Okay," I tell him, and he begins moving down the hall and toward the elevator, leaving me alone with Dimitri.

"It's going to be okay," Dimitri tells me, though I can't tell which of us he's trying to reassure. "Nothing is going to happen to Lissa."

I swallow hard, trying to force down the lump that has risen in my throat. "I know that." And I mean it.

Something like realization flashes in Dimitri's eyes. "Roza," he says slowly. "Stick to the plan."

My hand finds his and I squeeze, feeling strangely calm. "I will," I tell him, offering what I hope is a believable smile.

He opens his mouth to say something else, but Christian calls after him. I raise myself up on the tips of my toes and press a kiss to his mouth to silence him further.

"I love you," I say, more fervently than I had meant to.

"Belikov!" Christian half shouts, half hisses. "We have to go."

Dimitri's eyes dart between us, and then he says. "I love you, too." He kisses me once more and then disappears with Christian into the elevator.

I close the door to my suite and lean against it, glancing down at my watch to make sure I don't leave my rooms before the hallway cameras go live again. I still have 2 more minutes, and so I sink to the floor, my knees pulled to my chest and I let myself cry - nothing dramatic; just a few tears that slide down my cheeks and onto the thick fabric of my new uniform.

 _What if Dimitri and Christian can't find the real murderer? What if I can't distract Jared long enough to give them the time they need?_

There are too many variables - too many _what-ifs,_ and only one way to really ensure that Lissa doesn't go down for this.

My watch beeps - _time to go_. I force myself to my feet and suck in a deep breath, but it does little to soothe the dread that has coiled in my chest. No amount of deep-breathing is going to make me feel better about confessing to a murder I didn't commit, but I'm going to do it anyway.

* * *

Jared Sage finds me in the ad Salvum training warehouse, walking through a drill with a group of newly recruited defectors. It's a mixed group of former soldiers; blues and greens and silvers, but no reds, no investigators.

I see Jared push through the swinging double doors of the warehouse and stride into the room, a few stray members of the council flanking him.

"Counselor," I say by way of greeting, though I don't bother to tear my eyes away from the guard. "What brings you to this part of the city? Don't you have a class to teach?" My tone is light, almost casual, but it's taking every ounce of my restraint not to bolt out the back door.

"Helene," I say, addressing one of the recruits. "Your feet are too close together. Widen your stance before you get knocked on your ass." I assume a defensive position, my feet shoulder-width apart to demonstrate.

I feel Jared come up behind me. "Miss Hathaway," he says quietly. "I need you to come with me."

I barely glance over my shoulder at the man. "Can it wait? I'm busy," I tell him, gesturing to the rest of the guard.

He lets out a huff. "No," he growls. "It cannot wait."

A part of me wants to tell him to fuck off, but the more rational part of me knows that I have to go with him, _I have to save Lissa._

I roll my eyes dramatically and turn to face him, my hands on my hip. "What is this about?"

"It's of a sensitive nature," he tells me coolly. "It's better that we speak in private."

I look back at the recruits, then at Jared. "Fine," I concede. "But this better not take long."

He offers me a tight smile. "Not long at all."

* * *

Jared brings me the Capitol building, and we end up in what must be the surveillance room. The walls are lined with a plethora of sleek chrome monitors, and the tables running beneath the screens are piled high with logbooks and a few keyboards.

The walk over had given me a lot to ponder. I had decided that, as a last request before I'm probably executed for high-treason, I would like to have the Capitol building burned to the ground, preferably with certain members of the council still inside of it. A different part of me had been chastising - _I should have seen something like this coming_. After spending a perfect night in bed with the man I love, it only makes sense that I should be forced to sacrifice my life for the girl I love the next morning. I had also decided that fate is a grudge-holding, fickle-minded bitch.

Jared leaves his council lackies outside the surveillance room and gestures for me to sit on one of the bench seats lining the room. I catch a glimpse of the nearest monitor, and see the hallways of what looks like the medical center, but Jared coughs loudly before I can study any of the other screens more closely.

"Tatiana is dead," he says blunty.

I whirl around on the bench, not needing to feign surprise. "What?" I manage to stammer out.

"Please," he says, holding a hand up in annoyance. "Let's dispense with the falsities, shall we?"

My mouth goes slack; I hadn't expected him to be so straightforward with this questioning. "What falsities?" I ask. "I don't understand, I -" He cuts me a silencing glare and I swallow back the rest of my words.

Jared prowls up and down the length of the tiny room, his burnt-gold eyes fixed on me - a predator and its prey, and I am at the bottom of the food-chain for the first time in my life. "No need to act surprised, Rosemarie Hathaway," he drawls, dragging out the syllables of my name, the disgust in his voice perfectly plane. "When was the last time you saw her?" He asks the question as if he already knows the answer to it.

"Last night," I reply coolly, matching his tone. I try to remember everything I had learned in my interrogations techniques class. Though Jared's methods are not nearly as brutal as what the RPD instructors implemented, I never had this much at stake, and the weight of what could happen if I slip up is almost physically painful.

"You'll have to be more specific," he says, folding his arms across his chest.

My hands grip the smooth metal bars of the bench. _After Victor's hearing_ , I almost say. It's the truth, but it's a damning one, and my confession has to seem natural. Jared has to believe that he broke me - that he forced me to admit to killing Tatiana.

It's not that I don't think Dimitri and Christian are capable of discovering the truth, and it's not that I relish the idea of being executed, I just can't leave something like this up to chance. My confession is the only thing that I know with almost complete certainty will keep Lissa alive.

My heart slams against my ribs like a battering ram and a word forms in my mind, chanting in time with my thundering pulse - _lie, lie, lie, lie…_

"Miss Hathaway," demands Jared. "Answer the question."

"The last time I saw Tatiana was during Victor's hearing," I tell him, a forced tremor in my voice.

Excitement flashes across Jared's face - he had expected me to lie - he had been counting on it. "I see," he muses. "Are you sure about that?"

"Positive," I reply, my eyes darting to the side.

Jared grabs at one of the wireless keyboards with one hand, typing furiously on it with the other. He gestures to one of the screens with his chin, but I already know what I will see.

The picture is grainy, but I watch as a dark haired girl climbs the steps to Tatiana's office. Then the frame shifts so that I watch as she opens the door to the office and slips inside. Jared clicks something on the keyboard and the time stamp in the corner of the screen moves faster. When the door to the office opens again, Jared freezes the image and I find myself staring into my own dark eyes.

"Care to try again?" he asks, sounding pleased with himself.

I'm surprised to find that I don't need to fake the symptoms of a guilty conscious. My hands, still wrapped tightly around the metal bars of the bench to keep from trembling, are clammy and sweat beads have formed on my brow. Despite how wretched I feel in this moment, I remind myself that Jared still thinks of me as an investigator - he expects me to be resilient, _he expects a challenge._

The investigator's mask that had once been permanently carved into my features slips into place. "I just wanted to talk to her," I tell him flippantly.

"What about?" he asks, returning the keyboard to the nearest table.

 _I just wanted to confirm that she had helped to orchestrate the attack that permanently crippled society, then I threatened to expose her if she didn't support Lissa's war._ "Nothing that concerns you," I tell him in what I hope is a clipped, confident voice.

Jared bristles at my response. "It must have been urgent if you felt the need to go straight to her office immediately after Victor's _farce_ of a hearing."

My mouth twists into the caricature of a smile, more cruel than disarming. "It _was_ urgent," I agree. "Just above your paygrade."

"I don't think you're fully comprehending the gravity of the situation," Jared says, his voice taught as a wire. "You were the last person to see her alive, and this footage is more than enough evidence to have you executed for murder."

Jared has slipped up and I realize then that I don't have to confess - _he needs me for something._ I don't have to let Jared have the satisfaction of thinking he broke me. I will force him to cut a deal with me. I can find a way to save both Lissa and myself.

He takes a step toward me, his fiery gaze baring down on me and even though he is practically vibrating with unrestrained rage, he doesn't frighten me. _I am Rose Hathaway and I am stronger than he knows_ \- for once I am grateful for all that the RPD has taught me.

"Then do it," I hiss, my voice low and chaotic. He reels backward, surprised by the malice and the conviction raging within me. He opens his mouth to respond, but no words come out. My head falls to one side as I regard his agitated expression. "Tell me what it is that you want, Sage."

He shifts his weight from one foot to the other, uneasy with the sudden change in my demeanor. "What makes you think I want anything from _you?_ " he demands, managing a sneer.

I extend my legs out in front of me, casually crossing one ankle over the other. "Contrary to popular belief, I'm not an idiot. You wouldn't bother jumping through the hoops of an interrogation and an investigation if you could secure a conviction with just that footage _unless_ you wanted something."

Jared's expression is stormy, and I can see the thoughts churning in his mind like the white-capped waves of a raging tempest. "I've seen your medical records," he says, shifting gears. His voice low and strangely calm - _the eye of the storm._ "Your condition is degenerative." When I don't react, I find that I am once more grateful for my training. "And Vasilisa is weak, she won't be able to fight this war on her own, and that means she will turn to you to bear the brunt of her battles. She will chip away at what remains of your already broken mind and body until you dissolve into nothingness." He takes a step toward me, kicking my legs to the side as he nears. "Vasilisa would hand you over on a silver platter to the Executor if it meant she got her happy ending."

I realize too late that Jared Sage would have made a formidable RPD instructor. His words are like water running through the cracks of stone, and no matter how hard I try, I can't keep them from freezing and splintering the stone apart.

 _He's right_. This war will probably kill me.

Jared has seen his opening, and he continues, pressing his advantage. "You asked me what _I_ want, but I think the better question to ask here is _what do we both want?_ They're one in the same. The whole city saw the way Vasilisa verbally attacked Tatiana during her uncle's hearing, and no one would be surprised if they learned that she took the attack a step further. It would be simple," he croons. "All it would take from you is a small statement - just a few words to support her conviction, and then this all goes away; your cancerous friendship, the trial, the _war_. You could stay in the city, you and Dimitri both, you could have the life you've always dreamed of..."

The blood rushing through my ears drowns out the rest of his words, and instead of seeing Jared's face looming in front of me, the image of a dream I once had fills my mind. The night following the escape from the compound, I had glimpsed a life untouched by the destruction of the Pulse. I had seen Dimitri with a bouquet of flowers in his hand and a nervous smile on his face. We hadn't been refugees or prisoners, we hadn't been soldiers or fugitives - we had just been _us_ , the simplest most innocent versions of ourselves. I had written it off - _it was just a dream._ But what if...what if it could be more than just a dream? Could those versions of Dimitri and me really exist in this world?

Jared's words have left gaping holes in my resolve - _You could live the life you've always dreamed of._

But an existence where I have traded the life of my dearest friend for my own happy-ending is not the life of which I have always dreamt. I have dreamt of taking on the world with my friends at my side, of fighting for something bigger than myself; I have dreamt of redemption for the horrible deeds born of a past I never wanted, and when the truth of what I have done and who I was is burned from history, I will rest easy knowing that I have protected the people I love.

Revulsion spreads like damp beneath my skin, and I am suddenly disgusted with myself for having even fleetingly considered Jared's offer. I open my mouth to tell him as much, but I'm cut off by the sound of a voice crackling over the walkie talkie at Jared's hip.

"Counselor," it says, the tone discernibly urgent despite the warped quality the speaker adds.

Jared snatches the walkie-talkie from his belt and spins around so that his back is to me. "What?" he growls.

"You said to alert you if anything changed," the voice says by way of apology.

"I know what I said," Jared snaps. "What is it?"

"The girl," the voice says. "She's confessed."

The tension that has filled the silences between Jared's questions and my answers boils over into full fledged hysteria. It takes me a few moments to fully comprehend what I have just overheard, and those briefs seconds of confusion cost me everything.

The walkie-talkie clatters to the floor as Jared spins back around, a pair of metal cuffs glinting in his hand. He lashes out before I can react, securing one of the cuffs around my wrist. The tell-tale clicking sound of the cuff snapping closed is what finally spurs me into action. I try to leap up, but Jared shoves me back down with one hand and uses the other to shackle me to the metal bar of the bench beneath me.

Jared backs away, a self-satisfied smile plastered on his face. "Well," he says, sounding smug. "It seems I won't be needing your assistance after all. I wish I had known how simple it would be to frame Vasilisa, it would have saved me the trouble of dealing with _you_."

"Wait!" I scream, jerking against the cuff in desperate terror. "I killed her! I killed Tatiana!"

Jared shrugs. "Maybe you did, maybe you didn't." He strolls over to one of the monitors, ignoring the sounds of my struggle. "It doesn't matter now that Vasilisa has confessed."

He keeps his eyes trained on one of the screens in front of him, fiddling with the keyboard until the image that was once the halls of the medical center warps into a picture of a small, blonde girl huddled against the door of an interrogation room. She's banigng her head against the wood over and over again, but I can't hear what she's saying until Jared turns the volume up.

"I killed Tatiana. I killed Tatiana. I killed Tatiana."

Lissa is chanting the words over and over again, and each syllable sends a new wave of dread lancing through me. _Get it together, Rose!_ I give up on tugging at the restraint, and suck in a what I had hoped would be a calming breath, but it feels more like pulling fire into my lungs. Despite the panic flooding my system. I manage to position myself so that I am seated on the edge of the bench with my cuffed hand hidden partially behind my back.

Meanwhile, Jared adjusts another monitor so that it shows a live feed of the council chamber, and to my horror, I see that most of the council has already assembled on the stone dais, and the benches are full to bursting with chattering Portum Lux citizens. I stop fidgeting long enough to scan the crowd for Dimitri and Christian, but they are nowhere to be seen.

"I wouldn't want you to miss out on all the fun," Jared tells me, backing away from the screens after adjusting them to ensure that I can see both feeds clearly from my chained perch. "I'm sure you appreciate why I can't risk having you in the chamber during Vasilisa's trial. I wouldn't want you to get any bright ideas about confessing."

My jaw clenches and my teeth are like a dam holding back a flood of screams and curses. He moves toward the door, one hand poised on the knob to leave. "Don't feel bad, Rose. Once I've finished with your friend, I'll see that the two of you are _reunited_."

Jared slams the door shut behind him, and I waste no time considering his threat. I use my free hand to pull at the corner of my uniform, tugging at the collar until I can clench the thick fabric between my teeth.

My situation feels strangely familiar when I recall the train ride I'd taken to the Lonestar Facility with Dimitri, though he had been the one in cuffs. After he'd remarked on how uncomfortable his restraints were, I'd told him that one of the only ways to escape handcuffs involved more than a little _discomfort_.

I brace myself. With both hands behind my back, I wrap my free hand around the joint where my thumb meets my palm, bending it at a slight angle. I focus on Dimitri's face. I think about the way his dark eyes had guttered like flames when he'd said my name, and I then I jam my thumb upward, screaming into the fabric of my uniform as it disconnects from the socket.

I wriggle my hand free from the cuff, cradling it against my chest as I scramble for the door. Of course it's locked, and this time my scream is not muffled by my make-shift gag. I throw my shoulder against it like a battering ram, and though I can hear it jostle on its hinges, the door remains closed. Pain shoots through my shoulder, radiating down to the tips of fingers and I try not focus on the added damage I have inflicted on my body.

My attention shifts to my surroundings, and I scour the the room for anything that might help me escape. Logbooks are sent scattering to the floor as I plunder the desks, but I stop my frantic search when an image on one of the screens catches my eye. Lissa can no longer be seen on the first screen; the only thing visible now is a desk and two toppled chairs.

Panic seizes me - _Jared must already be bringing her to the council chamber._ My suspicions are confirmed when I turn my gaze to the second screen and watch as she is led into the center of the chamber, her arms secured behind her back. Even though the image is grainy and parts of it unfocused, I can still read the terror on her expression as clearly as if I were standing next to her. I am torn between watching the events of the trial as they unfold and finding a way out of this room. Lissa now sits beneath the domed ceiling, and Jared leans down to whisper something in her ear. I realize then that I can't actually hear what's being said. I fumble for the nearest wireless keyboard, wincing as I try to type using my now useless thumb, but no matter which keys I press, the only sound that fills the surveillance room is of my own ragged breathing. I am trapped in this glass and chrome prison, with nothing to show for it but a botched plan and a dislocated thumb.

I tear my eyes away from the screen and force myself to focus on getting out of this room, but after several minutes of searching, I come up empty handed. Feeling beaten, I slump back down on the bench, the cuffs rattling as I do and stare with unfocused eyes at the monitor. Jared is standing with his back to Lissa, addressing the council and gesturing wildly. Lissa looks just as defeated as I feel, her shoulders hunched and her face downcast.

Mine and Lissa's last hope is that Dimitri and Christian can somehow find a way to discover who really murdered Tatiana, but I know that our chances dwindle with every passing moment. _Who would want her dead_ I ponder. A lot of people, I quickly realize. But there's a difference between those who wish to see someone dead, those who are willing to do something about it, and those who are capable. Only a few people fit the last two requirements.

I run through the short list of people in my head, trying to match means and motive to people willing to kill for it, but no one seems to fit the bill. Only members of the council and a select few even had access to her office, and I guess it's possible that a councilman might have killed for power, but it just seems too extreme to be realistic. _Unless power wasn't the motivating factor behind the murder_ I consider.

Something Jared had said to me earlier scratches at the inside of my skull, _I wish I had known how simple it would be to frame Vasilisa_. Christian thought that Jared wanted to pin the murder on Lissa to cover the council's ass, because they couldn't afford to drag out the investigation, and it would mean a quick death to the spark of rebellion she had ignited the previous night. _But what if Jared had another reason for pinning it on her,_ I wondered. What better way to shift the attention away from himself by pointing a finger at a more obvious target.

A renewed sense of determination sweeps through me and I begin rifling through the contents of the desks once more, but I don't make it far. Something off screen has caught the attention of everyone in the chamber, and I watch as the onlookers' collective gaze turns toward the main doors. Seconds later, Dimitri and Christian come striding into the frame, half dragging a limp figure braced between them, and I immediately recognize him - Victor. However, I barely have time to consider why the hell Dimitri and Christian have brought him to the trial, as Jared whirls around, looking outraged. He storms forward, placing himself between where Lissa sits and the aisle leading out of the chamber.

Upon seeing Lissa's huddled form, Christian abandons Victor to Dimitri's care and advances on Jared. His mouth is moving rapidly in what I can only assume is a storm of curses, but I still can't hear a damn word that's being said. I bang a hand against the monitor in frustration, letting out a few curses of my own. I stop my pointless attack on the screen just in time to watch Christian shove Jared backward. However, before the confrontation can escalate further, Victor disentangles himself from Dimitri's hold and strides toward the two men.

Even without the accompanying audio, I can tell from the images on the screen that the room has fallen completely silent. Victor looks nothing like the man that had been wheeled before the council the previous night. His shoulders are thrown backward and his gait is steady. He says something to Jared, and the younger man's mouth falls open at whatever Victor has said.

Jared recovers quickly though, and he grabs Victor by the shoulder and practically drags him up the stone dais, ignoring the perplexed looks of the council as he does.

I snatch up the keyboard in one last desperate attempt to turn up the volume. _Come on_ , I beg of no one in particular. I'm so frustrated by my shortcomings that I nearly miss the snippets of audio that snake through a speaker as my finger mashes down on a random key.

"I have done you all a favor," Victor says in his usual wizened voice, and I nearly sag in relief at the sound. "Did you really believe that you could go on living behind the ruined facade of this city forever?"

I sit dumbfounded on the bench wondering what he is doing. My eyes flick briefly to Lissa and I see that she looks just as confused as I feel.

"It was only a matter of time before the Executor moved against Portum Lux, and your so-called _leader_ would have been helpless to stop her." Victor pauses for effect and I can tell that the people in the room, from the citizens to the council, are hanging on his every word. "I made the hard choice, and by doing so, I have given this city and its people a fighting chance."

Understanding rolls through me like thunder - _Victor killed Tatiana._

I hadn't thought it possible until now; he had seemed so broken, so incapable of even holding himself upright. But seeing him now, his spine straight and his voice strong, I see that it had all been an elaborate rouse.

But even as Victor continues his explanation of why he killed her, something feels wrong. _It's too simple_ , I think. Racking my brain, I try to fit the pieces together. Expecting that I would have to force them into place to form a picture, I find that it is surprisingly easy to weave Victor into the narrative of Tatiana's death. I recall the way he held me at knife-point outside the walls of the compound; there had been no doubt in my mind that he would draw the blade across my throat until the ground beneath us ran red with my blood. _It makes sense,_ I realize.

Then why don't I feel better?

Jared steps forward and my thoughts recede to the back of my mind. He should look happier than he does. The trial is over, and he doesn't have to worry about the council looking weak or ineffective, and yet his features are set in a livid mask of barely contained rage.

"The council has granted me full discretion in this matter," he shouts, straining to be heard over the crowd that has grown uneasy. "This outsider has confessed to taking the life of one of our own. Expulsion from the city, the usual punishment for such a crime seems unfitting. In light of these circumstances, and in consideration of the manner in which the death occurred, I recommend that the council sentence him to death by firing squad."

My stomach drops, and I watch as Lissa leaps up from the table and attempts to rush up the stone steps to her uncle, but Christian catches her around the waist. She isn't the only one who reacts to Jared's decision though. The citizens have grown restless, and a few of them attempt to surge passed the ad Salvum guards that ring the room. I can hear shouts of protest, but I can't quite make out what they're saying. Jared flinches away from them, looking horrified. It reminds me of the way they had responded to Lissa's call to action the night before. Would they support her if she wished to spare Victor from death?

The door to the surveillance room suddenly bursts open, and I am on my feet with fists raised in the span of a heartbeat.

To my relief, Eddie stands in the doorway. "There you are!" he exclaims, seeming out of breath. "When I didn't see you at the trial, I -"

I cross the room in a few short strides and fling my arms around his neck. The force of my embrace seems to knock the remaining breath from his lungs, and I almost feel bad for holding onto him so tightly, but I don't care - I have never been so happy to see someone in my life. "Thank God," I cry, my voice muffled by his chest.

"Rose," he chokes out. "I can't breathe."

I take a step back, wincing at the pain in my thumb. "Sorry."

Eddie looks down at my injured hand and then into the room, taking in the images on the monitors and the handcuffs. "What the hell?" he asks. "Who did this to you?"

"No time to explain," I tell him, moving out into the hallway. "We have to get to the trial, we have to make sure they don't execute the wrong person." I can't explain how I know it, but I can feel in my bones that something very wrong is about to happen.

Eddie stares at me in obvious confusion. "Didn't you hear Jared? They're going to execute Victor."

I eye Eddie warily. "Exactly."

* * *

 **Hey all! I know I am awful and it has been literal months, but I tried to make up for it with a casual 7,000 word update...please forgive me.**

 **Also I wanted to take the time to answer a few questions asked by my lovely guest reviewers. First, to my reviewer who asked about Rose's arm, I definitely plan on addressing that in what I think will be the last official update (it will flow with the plot I swear) Second, to my reviewer who asked about the timeline of chapters 22 and 23, one of the many perks of writing a narrative from dual perspectives is that I get to go through the same timeframe twice, so when Dimitri asks Lissa where Rose is, it's because he hasn't seen her yet - she's still talking to Tatiana (even though you, as the reader, already know that Dimitri is definitely going to** _ **meet up**_ **with Rose later). I'm sorry if it ended up being confusing, but I sort of meant to write those two chapters, as well as parts of this one, as occurring simultaneously. Hopefully in the future I can do a better job.**

 **P.S. I love hbarker, who has stuck with me through my absurd update schedule**


	25. Chapter 25

_**Vasilisa -**_

" _It is a far, far better thing that I do, than I have ever done; it is a far, far better rest that I go to than I have ever known."_

 _Charles Dickens_

" _I recommend that the council sentence him to death by firing squad."_

Jared's words feel like a swift punch to the gut, but instead of doubling over from the blow, I sprint toward the stone steps of the dais toward Victor. Before I make it even two steps, an arm catches me around the waist and hoists me backward.

"Let go!" I snap, struggling against the hold.

"Lissa!" Christian hisses in my ear. "Let it happen."

Christian's words are nearly drowned out by the sounds of the crowd surging all around us. I hear cries calling for Victor's death, a few of them even call for mine. It's an almost perfect recreation of the night before - when the people had moved in support of my call for action, but where there had had been excitement, there is now outrage. Where my words had sparked a revolution, Victor's have nearly incited a riot.

It had happened so quickly. One minute Jared was painting a picture of how I had wanted Tatiana dead even before I'd come to Portum Lux, of how I had used last night as a catalyst to gain support and then to take over the council, and the next minute Victor was dragged into the room by Christian and Dimitri. He had not only confessed to the murder - he'd _bragged_ about it.

My eyes dart to the dais, to where Victor and Jared stand, but only one of them looks even remotely panicked by the situation that has unfolded. Jared summons a few of the navy-clad ad Salvum guards to escort Victor out of the room, looking unhinged and unsure of what to do next.

"Enough!" he shouts, desperate to be heard over the crowd. "We will have order!"

Christian ignores Jared's calls for order and spins me around to cup my face between his hands. "What were you thinking?" he asks, his voice low and chaotic, but before I can answer he presses his lips to mine, and I can feel the relief roll off of him in heady waves. "What. Were. You. Thinking." his demand punctuated with kisses.

He finally pulls away, his blue eyes expectant. "You left me in that room," I say, recalling how I had come to be here in the first place. "And I thought you were going to tell Jared that you'd killed Tatiana - that you were going to take the fall, and I couldn't let you do that, and -" My voice rises with each word.

Christian pulls me toward him,wrapping his arms around my shoulders and squeezing as if we were the seams that held the universe together. "You wanted to protect me." His words are both a question and an answer.

I nod, sagging against him. I was going to do it - I was going to confess if it meant I could keep Christian and the others safe.

Someone shouts my name and I feel another set of arms wrap around me. I look up from Christian's chest to see that Rose has encircled both Christian and myself in a massive bear-hug.

"Thank god." she says, her voice muffled by my hair. I'm certain she has inhaled a mouth full of strands but she doesn't seem to care. "Are you okay?" she whispers, but doesn't wait for an answer. "Where is Victor?"

"You just made this weird," interrupts Christian in a strangled voice as he tries to disentangle himself from both sets of arms. "And where have you been? I thought we were about to walk in on _your_ trial," he says, turning to Rose.

"Well," she says, tucking her hands firmly behind her back. "I got a little tied up." Though her eyes are bright, her expression is ashen and something about her demeanor seems off. Before I can ask her what's wrong, Dimitri is there - folding her into an embrace, murmuring something to her in Russian.

Christian grabs me by the hand and pulls me toward Rose and Dimitri so that we all stand gathered at the center of the chamber. "So this didn't exactly go as expected," he says, glancing at Dimitri with a half-smile. "But I think we're in the clear - no one is going to go away for murd-"

As if sensing that Christian had just declared that everything was going to turn out okay - Jared lets out a thunderous shout. "Enough!" This time the crowd obeys and a hush falls over the room. He stands atop the dais, his expression livid. "The Council has agreed to determine the outsider's fate in a closed session. We're finished here," he thunders, waving the crowd away while turning his back on the room.

Rose's gaze is fixed on Jared as if she were trying to burn a hole in the back of his skull. "We need to find Victor, and we need to find a way into that session," she tells me without looking away from Jared. Before I can voice my concern, a different voice cuts through the silence and tension.

"With all due respect, Councilman Sage," the small, but undeniably confident voice calls out. "We are not finished here."

Our heads swivel around, everyone collectively searching for the source of the voice. My eyes land on Sydney, her golden head like a beacon among the crowd of civilians. She marches toward the front of the chamber, the people parting for her like the Red Sea. Jared stares at his daughter with the same golden eyes, but where Sydney's shine like bottled starlight, his burn like a wildfire.

Sydney reaches the center of the chamber and clears her throat. "In its current state, the Council is unfit to pass that sort of judgment." Jared raises an eyebrow in question. "There is no precedent for an execution in Portum Lux. What happens to the outsider is a matter of first impression, and according to our by-laws, that means every member of the Council must vote on its outcome."

Jared makes a series of exasperated noises. "Every member of the council _will_ vote," he says flippantly.

"Not _every_ member," she responds coldly, and the room breaks into low murmurs.

Confusion flashes across Jared's face, and then realization. I hear Christian suck in a breath beside me as he reaches the same conclusion.

"There's a vacancy," I say under my breath, more to myself than to the people around me.

"Christian," Rose hisses. "How does Portum Lux determine who serves on the council?"

"Anyone can be nominated," he says quietly. "Then it's put to a vote by the general population."

"Now is hardly the time to make such a decision," says Jared, his voice dripping with feigned remorse. "Now while we still mourn the death of our former councilmember, may she rest in peace. It would be insulting to her memory."

Sydney rolls her shoulders back. "It seems to me that it would be more insulting to her memory to disregard the very laws that Tatiana herself put into place."

A few of the civilians murmur their agreement and I watch as Jared begins to fidget, looking unsettled for the first time since my trial had started. "Very well," he finally concedes. "We will begin accepting nominations tomorrow morning." Jared starts to turn away once more, but Sydney's voice calls him back.

"Why wait?" she asks. "We're all here now."

The whispers grow into a dull roar that fills the room. "What is Sydney doing?" I ask Christian, the confusion in my voice cut through with panic.

"I have no idea," Christian admits.

"Very well," Jared says, struggling to keep his voice under control. "We will begin accepting nominations _now._ "

The room is silent for only a few, brief moments before Rose steps forward. "I nominate Vasilisa Dragomir."

If I hadn't lost complete control of my limbs, I might have smacked her.

Jared Sage looks personally affronted by Rose's suggestion, but he quickly gathers his resolve before responding, "Absolutely not, she was just on trial for _murder_."

"A murder of which she was cleared," corrects Rose. "Anyone can be nominated." Her words sound almost like a question as her eyes dart to Sydney who nods in confirmation. "I nominate Vasilisa Dragomir."

"One nomination is not enough," chides Jared, and he folds his arms across his chest, looking as if he has already won. "And might I remind you all that current council members are barred from making nominations," he adds, his gaze zeroing in on Christian.

I exhale slowly, sure that no one else in this room will support my nomination.

"I second the nomination." adds Eddie. Of course he would support whatever the hell it is that Rose is planning without question.

I feel myself start to inch backward toward the exit. _This is not happening_.

"A candidate is not eligible unless three citizens support the nomination!" declares Jared through gritted teeth.

I glare at Dimitri and shake my head, silently begging him to keep his mouth shut, but it doesn't matter because a third voice calls out for my nomination.

"I support the nomination!" A man pushes his way through the crowd, and it isn't until he clears the ring of ad Salvum guards that I recognize him.

"Isn't that the guy from last night?" Christian asks.

Last night feels like a million years ago, but I nod in confirmation. "The one who came up to me after Victor's hearing."

"I will not stand for this!" Jared shouts.

"You don't have a choice," Sydney says in a calm voice, but it's laced with triumph. "Vasilisa Dragomir has been nominated in accordance with our laws."

Jared doesn't speak at first, and I watch as his face cycles through doubt, then anger, and then a bitter sort of acceptance. "Very well. Would anyone else like to nominate a candidate?" His eyes scan the room, silently imploring someone to speak up, but every living soul in the room has stilled. "Anyone?" Jared asks, his voice verging on desperation. "What about -" But Jared's words are cut off by a quick look from his daughter.

"You said it yourself," she tells him. "Council members cannot make or support nominations. Vasilisa is running unopposed. A vote by the public is moot."

My heart has lodged itself in my throat - _this is not happening_. I stare daggers at the back of Rose's head, silently pleading with her to turn around, to tell me this is all just an elaborate joke.

 _This is real_ , I tell myself, and I have to stop it. I take a step forward, "I'm not running for anything!" I had meant to shout the words, but they come out weak and unsettled, almost smothered by the chill in the pit of my stomach.

Jared's face lights up just as Rose's foot stomps down on mine. "Right, because she doesn't have to run if there's no election. You heard Sage Junior, a public vote is moot - the job is her's."

Jared looks as if he might actually explode, and a part of me wishes he would, just so that this nightmare would end.

"She's right," a small voice pipes up, and the collective gaze of everyone in the room drifts to the council table where a woman has risen from her seat. "The law is clear where the succession of council seats is concerned. Vasilisa will succeed Tatiana."

"Ariana," says Jared in a wrathful voice. "How can you stand for this?"

The woman does not back down. "Your daughter is right," she tells him in a level tone. "It would be an insult to Tatiana's memory to ignore the very laws she founded this city on."

Jared searches the faces of the other members of the council, desperate for an ally, but when he finds none, he turns his vengeful gaze back on me. "This isn't over." He then straightens, collecting himself to address the others in the room. "You are all dismissed," he tells them, and storms out of the room before anyone can unleash some other horror upon him.

I immediately grab Rose by the hand and drag her over to the far side of the room, and she winces as I do. "Start talking," I hiss, unable to control my emotions any longer. The situation might have been less infuriating if Rose looked even slightly apologetic, but she doesn't. She looks almost pleased with herself.

Her dark eyes scan the room to ensure no one is listening, but everyone's too busy mulling over the events of the day. Satisfied that our conversation won't be overheard, she turns back to me. "I don't think Victor killed Tatiana," she says in a whisper. At first, I'm not sure I've heard her correctly, but Rose doesn't bother reacting to my confusion and barrels on with her explanation. "He couldn't have done it. He's too weak to even stand for longer than five minutes at a time, and Tatiana's office is twenty-two stories up in the air."

"Is that it?" I ask incredulously. "That's your justification for pushing me into a council seat?

She makes a series of frustrated noises and then grabs me by the wrist to pull me closer. "Of course that's not it. Victor didn't kill Tatiana, Jared did."

My eyes widen, "Excuse me?"

"Think about it," she whispers. "Jared is one of the biggest supporters of Portum Lux's isolationist policy. He would have never agreed to take up arms against the Executor and risk this little pocket of _paradise_."

"Then why kill Tatiana?" I ask. "She agreed with him. That doesn't make any sense."

Rose looks uneasy for the first time, and her eyes dart away from mine. "Actually," she says, her voice rising in pitch. "Tatiana had a last minute change of heart."

"Rose," I groan. "Is that why you went to see her last night?"

"Maybe," she says, and when I raise a single, unconvinced brow at her she continues. "Fine, yes, I talked to her about how it was in everyone's best interest that she get behind a more _aggressive_ plan."

"So Tatiana was going to alter her position?"

Rose nods. "Jared was about to lose, and he needed to find a way to get the council's support, and discredit you at the same time."

The air seems to have been sucked out of the room. "So he killed her."

"And tried to frame you," she finishes.

It takes a few moments for me to process what Rose has told me. _That part makes sense_ , I realize. Jared had the means, and he certainly had the motive, but Tatiana's murder is only one piece in the screwed up puzzle that is Rose's nonsensical plot to get me elected to the counsel.

"What does this have to do with me having a seat on the council?"

"We needed to tip the scales," she says, sounding almost excited. "The people of Portum Lux already support you, but only parts of the council - and that's mostly because of Christian's influence. Now you have to be taken seriously, by everyone, including the council." She pauses, considering for a few moments. "And now we have two people on the inside to monitor Jared's movements."

"If Jared killed Tatiana, what's going to stop him from killing me?" I squeak, trying to smother the rising alarm welling within.

Rose's expression darkens. "That's not going to happen. With you and Christian on the council, and Eddie in charge of the ad Salvum, we'll be able to develop a strategy to start moving against the Executor. I don't plan on being here much longer."

 _This is all moving so quickly_ , I think to myself. Rose is able to read my distressed expression like an open book.

"It's going to be okay," she says, squeezing my wrist in reassurance.

"What about Victor?" I ask suddenly. The question surprises us both.

Rose pulls her hand away. "What about him?"

"Jared wants to execute him for something he didn't do," I say, glad that my words have iced over. "If he didn't kill Tatiana, why did he confess?"

She lets out a low breath. "I don't know."

"And what about Jared? Are we just going to let him get away with murder?"

"Of course not!" she says, sounding almost offended. "It's just going to be difficult to prove."

Rose and I are so wrapped up in our conversation that we don't notice when Christian stalks over to us, still looking haggard from the long days and nights he has been forced to work in the wake of the raids and shifts of power.

"Ladies," he says, his usual sarcasm swallowed up by exhaustion. "Anyone care to explain what the hell just happened?"

"Rose would love to," I tell him, the wariness in my tone mirroring his own. I turn away from them, searching the room for Sydney in the hopes that she might be able to help me.

"Where are you going?" Christian and Rose ask in unison.

"To talk to Victor."

* * *

Sydney escorts me to the medical facility in relative silence.. Adrian, who has decided to tag along,on the other hand, bombards me with questions. However, when we reach our destination, he has enough sense to wait in the hall.

Victor waits for me beyond the thick sheet of glass in his hospital room. His back is to me, and his eyes are fixed on the far side of the room, but I know he isn't focused on the plain white walls of his pristine prison. I know he's thinking about something I will probably never comprehend or understand. Still, his inward contemplation makes him look strangely vulnerable in a way I have rarely seen him.

Sydney moves past me and reaches for the control panel mounted next to the gallery window. Her hand hovers over the mic, and she turns to me, her golden eyes wary. "Are you ready?"

I nod, not wanting to risk her hearing the conflict in my voice.

Sydney presses down on the mic with a delicate finger. "Victor," she says in a controlled tone. "Your niece is here to speak with you."

He doesn't react at first, and Sydney's worried gaze darts to me.

"It's fine," I tell her in a low voice, though I feel anything _but_ fine.

"Right," she says, "Of course, I'll give you some privacy."

Adrian is waiting for her in the corridor, and I hear him tell her how the khaki in her pants brings out the color of her eyes before the door slides shut with a click. A breathy laugh escapes my lips and Victor's head turns almost imperceptibly at my reaction. I realize then that Sydney must have left the mic on indefinitely.

"I've missed that sound," Victor says quietly, his voice warped by the grainy quality of the speaker.

My fingers curl into fists at my side. I can't explain the rage that has come over me, or the hot angry tears that pool in my eyes. This isn't the first time I've seen him since he made it to Portum Lux. It is, I realize, the first time I've actually had to face him. I find that I want to scream at him, to tell him that he doesn't deserve to miss my laugh or to remember those things about me, but I keep my mouth firmly shut, not wanting to let him see the emotions churning within me. When I don't respond, Victor turns so that he can peer through the gallery window. The fluorescent lights cast him in a sickly pale glow that sends shadows slanting across the planes of his face and the sharp angles of his body where he has grown too thin.

Despite my anger, the sight of him makes my chest ache with what I try to write off as pity, but I know is concern. "Rose says you didn't do it," I tell him, trying to shake off any unwanted compassion.

At this, he rises from his narrow bed. "Did she now?" he asks, strolling casually toward the glass. "That girl is full of surprises," he muses.

"Is she right?" I ask.

Victor doesn't respond immediately. He takes a moment to straighten the plain button down shirt he'd been given for the trial, and when he attempts to clear his throat, his efforts dissolve into a fit of coughing. "Yes," he finally says, wheezing slightly. "Rose's instincts, as I have come to realize, are usually spot on."

I don't comment on the fact that Victor had once told me that Rose's instincts made her dangerous, so dangerous in fact, that he had tried to convince me to let her die after she and Dimitri had escaped from the Lonestar facility. The memory lights a flame under me, and any sorrow I might have felt for him goes up in smoke.

"Why?" I demand, my voice low and furious. "Why would you take the fall for this?"

He looks up at me, his green eyes curious, as if he doesn't understand why I'm asking him this - as if I should already know the answer. When I don't say anything further, he settles himself back onto the bed, his hands braced on his knees for support.

"Dimitri and the Ozera boy came here a few hours ago asking questions, wanting to know whether I had been taken directly to my room after the hearing, if I had been alone at all. It wasn't a very strategic interrogation," he says a little smugly, and the man I had once known flickers into existence for a brief moment. "It didn't take me long to figure out that something had happened and that whatever it was, they assumed I was to blame. Dimitri was visibly upset, and from there I was able to deduce that it involved either yourself or Rosemarie."

The pieces are slowly falling into place - of course Christian and Dimitri would have tasked themselves with discovering the true identity of the killer, and of course they would have gone straight to Victor.

"Did they put you up to this?" I ask, though a part of me doesn't want to know the answer.

Victor shakes his head. "No one put me up to anything. Dimitri told me what happened and then I made a choice."

I inch toward the glass. "What exactly did he tell you happened?"

"That you were about to be convicted of a crime you hadn't committed."

"And so you got it in your head that it would be a good idea to confess?" I ask skeptically. "Why would you do that?"

"We both know I am not long for this world," he tells me solemnly. "My life means nothing, but your life -"

I slam a fist against the glass and Victor reels backward in surprise at my outburst. "No!" I shout. "You don't get to determine the value of a life - it's not your choice to make! It wasn't your choice when you sacrificed my parents to what you thought was the _greater good_ , and it's not your choice now!"

"What would you have me do, Vasilisa?" he asks, regaining some of his composure. "Let them kill you? Is that what you wanted? Or were you counting on Rose to swoop in and save you?"

I shake my head fervently. "You didn't do this for me," I tell him through gritted teeth. "You did this so that I would forgive you, so that you could make _yourself_ feel better." I take another step forward, my face mere inches from the glass that separates us. "This doesn't make you a martyr, and it doesn't change what you've done. I will _never_ forgive you." Despite the ire in my voice, I still feel conflicted. There was a time when Victor had been the one to clean the cuts and wipe the tears away, but the Victor I had come to know toward the end of my life at the compound has thrown salt in my wounds and provided a seemingly bottomless well of reasons to cry. But this man - the one who stands before me beaten and broken and prepared to die for me - I do not recognize any version of this man.

"It is not your forgiveness that I seek. The things that I have done are too terrible to be forgiven, and I am too old for it to matter much."

"Then what do you want?" I ask, my voice suddenly hoarse. So much has taken place in the span of just a few hours, and I feel drained to the point of collapse.

"A chance to do the right thing," he says calmly, rising from the bed. "And that doesn't mean you have to understand what I've done or my reasons for doing it, but you will accept it. But for what it's worth, I am sorry, Vasilisa, for what I did to you and your loved ones, the lies I told, and for realizing too late that you are right. Perhaps it is not up to me to determine the value of a life, but I think it might be within my power to decide what my death means. I should like for it to mean that you are safe."

He raises a tentative hand and presses it to the glass, his fingers splayed out across its smooth surface. We all start out like the glass, I realize, unmarred and perfectly clean to the point of being reflective, but the people in our lives and the things that happen to us can leave us smudged and scratched and sometimes cracked. Victor had nearly shattered me completely.

The same hands that had once been covered in chalk from our late night study sessions are thin and discolored, and yet they are still entirely familiar to me.

I feel myself begin to tremble, but I still manage to raise my own hand to the glass so that that they are aligned. I cannot bring myself to forgive him or say anything that might bring him peace, but I can give him this - this one last gesture of solidarity.

"Vasilisa," he says softly. "Remember, now that the trial has ended and the city believes the killer has been dealt with, the investigation into Tatiana's murder will come to a close -" His words are cut off by another fit of hacking coughs, and he has to tear his hand from the glass to cover his mouth. I pretend not to notice that his palm comes away stained with red.

"But the real killer is still out there," I finish, my own hand dropping back to my side. _Jared is still out there_.

Words are too much for him at the moment and so he nods solemnly. "Be careful," he tells me quietly. "Keep Rose close." He turns his back to the window, his shoulders hunched with pain.

"Victor, wait," I say quickly, feeling suddenly overwhelmed with questions. "They're going to kill you for this - what if we could find find out the truth before then? You would have to withdraw your confession - this is only a temporary fix."

"You cannot save me," he says, though he does not turn to face me. "And I do not wish to be saved."

The doors behind me open, but my attention remains fixed on my uncle. I feel as if I will split apart at the seams, torn to pieces by the parts of me that believe he deserves to be punished and the parts of me that still remember what it was like to love him.

"Lissa," Rose says, overflowing with hesitation. "It's time to go." She keeps her dark eyes fixed on me, refusing to let her gaze shift to where Victor sits on the other side of the glass. "We need to talk about what to do next."

She's right, I know that she's right. I can't just stay in this room and try to guess Victor's motives or dissect his choices. Every minute I waste brings him closer to an execution he doesn't deserve.

 _Or maybe he does deserve it_.

"Lissa," Rose says again, this time with less patience. "Come on." She grabs me by the hand and leads me out of the room, letting me have one last fleeting look at Victor before doors slide shut behind me. He doesn't bother turning around to watch me leave.

I immediately slump against the smooth white walls of the corridor and Rose watches as I slide to the floor in exhaustion. She keeps her hand cradled against her chest, grimacing when she thinks I can't see. I let out a sigh. "What have you done now?"

Her hands instantly drop to her sides. "Nothing," she winces.

I pat the ground beside me. "Sit," I tell her, and after glancing down both ends of the hallway, she does.

"Let me see," I say. She hesitates, but after a stern look from me she holds out her hand and I see that her thumb is jutting out from her hand at an unnatural angle. "Rose!" I scold. "What the hell happened?"

"Nothing!" she insists, trying to pull her hand back but I hold fast to her wrist, examining the injury.

"Whatever happened," I tell her, gently turning her palm over. "It was clean, whoever did this to you knew what they were doing."

Rose turns her face away and a few dark strands of hair that have escaped her braid sweep across her shoulder. "Your admiration is noted."

My grip on her wrist tightens. "You did this to yourself?"

"Yes," she admits. "Jared got the jump on me, chained me to a bench so I wouldn't interfere with your trial."

My heart seizes up in my chest. "So you broke your own bones?"

"It didn't hurt," she insists.

I finally relinquish my hold on her, and her hands settle in her lap. "That's not the point, Rose. You can't keep doing this to yourself. You're falling apart."

She stiffens beside me and even though we are mere inches apart, she feels a million miles away. "I'm fine," she mutters. "I'll be fine."

"Not if you don't take care of yourself!"

Her head drops, her darks eyes falling shut. "Don't worry, I'll get it together before the fighting starts."

The hollowness of her voice tears at me. "Is that what you think? That I want you to get better so that you can fight? I want you to be okay because you deserve to be _okay_. I don't care about the Executor, about the war, about anything in this world if you aren't a part of it, Rose." I pause, having to take a breath to keep from sobbing. "Take care of yourself, please," I entreat.

"Okay," she agrees, lifting her head to meet my gaze. "Only if you promise to do the same."

I offer her a small smile. "That seems like a fair trade."

"Almost," she says, smiling back. "I'll go see Sydney about my hand if you go get something to eat. I'm concerned you might get carried off by a particularly strong gust of wind."

I nod and she scrambles to her feet, offering me her good hand. I take it gladly, realizing that Rose is right and that I haven't been eating enough.

"When you're done eating, meet me in the ad Salvum warehouse, we can get with Eddie and the others and try to figure out what to do next," she tells me, already turning away.

I wring my hands together, almost too nervous to ask, "A plan to do what exactly? To prove Jared is the real killer? Because if we do - prove it, I mean, then Victor goes free."

Rose is still poised to walk away and if she feels uncomfortable by what I've said, it doesn't show. "Do you want him to go free?"

"I don't know," I say in a voice that might as well have been a whisper.

She lets out a heavy sigh, weighed down by the conflict of hating a man she knows I might still love. "Maybe don't eat in the cafeteria," Rose says warily, and then turns to walk back down the perfectly still corridor.

* * *

Rose's vague warning does little to deter me from eating in the cafeteria, though it's not until I have a tray piled high with food and am seated next to Sonya and Mikhail that I realize why she'd said it.

"He deserves to die."

"Death is too kind for the likes of him."

"There's a special place in hell -"

Everywhere I go, I hear whispers - people calling for Victor's death. I shovel a forkful of rice into my mouth, trying to block them out, but it's no use. Rose had probably noticed the widespread feeling of hatred toward Victor and, in true Rose Hathaway form, wanted to shield me from it. _I should have listened_.

Sonya looks at me with concern, her green eyes kind. "How are you?"

"Fantastic," I grumble, my mouth still full of rice.

"Just ignore them," advises Mikhail.

I try not to roll my eyes at him. Instead I swallow and reply, "Easier said than done."

Mikhail and Sonya exchange a troubled glance, but neither of them tries to comfort me further, recognizing its futility. We eat in silence for the next few minutes, trying not to react when a woman passes by and tells me that unless I vote in favor of an execution I'll lose my council seat.

I bite my lip, fighting the urge to tell her that would be a win-win situation as far as I was concerned.

"You won't lose your council seat," a voice tells me, nearly causing me to leap out of my skin.

I turn around in my seat, craning my neck to see that the man from my trial is standing behind me, a placid smile on his plain features. I blink at him a few times, trying to study his appearance.

"I appreciate your confidence," I tell him dryly.

He jams his hands into his pockets, "Like I said the night of your uncle's hearing - you belong on the council."

"Thank you," I manage to say, though I am anything but thankful.

"Tatiana would have done anything to keep Portum Lux a secret, but with you in power, everything will change. This is what's best for NAAMA - for everyone." His smile widens, as if he truly believes in the cause I have set before the city.

"Thank you," I say again, but this time I mean it. "For everything."

He nods at me before walking away, and I turn back to my meal, feeling a little lighter. Up until that moment, the circumstances that led to my appointment had felt dirty - as if I had to climb over dead bodies to get there, but the stranger had been right. Now that I have more pull with the city, I can finally be the kind of catalyst the people in my life had always believed me to be.

 _Everything will change._

But is change at the cost of lives worth it?

"A fan of yours?" asks Mikhail.

I shrug, "I guess. He's one of the refugees Christian brought back from the southern raid, so I think he just has more cause than most to get behind a war."

Sonya narrows her eyes at me and then turns away, searching the cafeteria for something - or someone.

I push my tray aside and rise from my seat. "I'll see you guys later. I need to find Christian before the ad Salvum training day ends."

Sonya doesn't answer immediately, her expression still thoughtful. "Try not to let the people get to you," she offers softly.

"I'll try,' I tell her and slip out of the cafeteria - grateful to have the hushed accusations of the city at my back.

* * *

Christian's fingers are laced with mine as we approach the training warehouse. He turns to offer me a small smile, gently squeezing my hand with his own. Tomorrow the council will likely sentence my uncle to death - a sentencing I will have to weigh in on, and in that moment, Christian's grip feels like the only thing anchoring me to this world. I force myself to think about anything other than the fact that I have already wasted too much time, and that we are no closer to proving that Jared is the one responsible for Tatiana's death.

The light from the sunset bleeds into the sky, turning it a vibrant shade of orange that sends shadows slanting across the streets. When we reach the swinging double doors of the building, I see that a ladder is leaning against the wall of the warehouse and a tall boy with dark curling hair is perched atop it, paintbrush in hand. Adrian turns to say something to the girl standing below him causing her to throw her head back in laughter. Sydney turns at our approach, a carefree smile on her face, and a streak of red paint on her nose. "Hey," she says, her cheeks flushing a similar shade as the paint.

Adrian scrambles down from the ladder and steps back to admire his handiwork. Three words have been painted in perfect, curling script just above the doors of the warehouse. Each letter so carefully brushed onto the run-down building that the words almost look out of place.

" _The Ashford Academy,_ " I read aloud, the words nearly catching in my throat.

Arian looks down at his feet in a rare moment of reservation. "Rose asked me to."

"It's perfect," Christian tells him and I watch as Adrian's doubt dissipates from his expression.

The four of us share a moment of silence, taking in the way the words seem to make the entire building stand a little straighter, as if it were proud to share a name with someone who had been so brave and compassionate.

"Sydney," says Christian. "Can we ask you something?"

Her eyes narrow automatically and I can practically see the gears in her head begin to turn. "Sure," she says in a controlled voice.

"Your dad," Christian starts off, sounding uncomfortable. "Do the two of you still share that suite on the third floor?"

Sydney doesn't visibly react to the question beyond quirking an eyebrow. "You want to know if he has an alibi for Tatiana's murder," she says matter-of-factly.

Christian and I wear matching startled expressions. That had been _exactly_ what we wanted to know. Adrian beams at Sydney, looking proud of her for having figured out what we wanted so quickly.

Sydney sighs. "It's okay. It's no secret that my relationship with my father is _strained_."

"We don't mean to put you in an uncomfortable situation," I say by way of apology.

She waves a hand at me, as if swatting my words away. "I was with him all night," she says, and she almost sounds reluctant to tell us. "We were going over the transcripts from Victor's hearing and comparing them to Rose's. He wanted to see if their were any discrepancies."

I try not to look as disappointed as I feel, but Christian doesn't give up so easily. "You're sure?" he presses.

Sydney nods. "I was with him when he got the call about Tatiana's body."

"Shit," Christian mutters. "Back to square one."

"Wait a second," Adrian interjects. "If Victor killed Tatiana then why are the two of you going around asking questions about alibis?"

Christian and I hesitate, but Sydney does not. "Because Victor didn't kill Tatiana.".

"You are just full of surprises today, Sage," muses Christian.

"Excuse me?" Adrian demands. "How do you know?"

Sydney rolls her eyes, as if the answer should be obvious, but I know that Christian and I are just as confused as Adrian. "I'm Victor's doctor. I know exactly what he is and is not capable of - that climb would have killed him," explains Sydney. "I had my doubts, but no proof. More importantly, I knew that if I voiced my concerns, my father would have used it as an opportunity to shift the blame back onto you," she continues, her gaze drifting to me. "I needed something more concrete than my own suspicions before I went to the council."

"That's why you pushed for the election," I tell her, as more and more pieces fall into place. "To buy more time."

Sydney nods "Sorry about that," she says, wincing just a little.

"Don't apologize," I grumble. "That was all Rose's doing."

Christian clears his throat, probably not wanting to watch me get worked up about the election. "Thanks for your help, Sydney."

"Any time," she says with a smile.

Adrian reaches down and grabs the paint bucket with one hand and Sydney's hand with the other. "Come on, all this painting has made me hungry."

The two of them turn to walk back to the Duval just as Christian opens the door to the warehouse and gestures for me to enter.

"For what it's worth," Sydney adds quickly, turning over her shoulder "I think you'll make a great council member. We need someone like you."

* * *

The newly dubbed _Ashford Academy_ is jam packed with ad Salvum guards and civilians alike. The end of the training day usually consists of watching and betting on matches between the guards. It's one of the few times I've ever seen the people of Portum Lux look relaxed - like they're actually enjoying themselves. Most of them stand in a throng around the sparring ring, but Christian and I still have to split up to track down the others. I find Rose standing apart from the cheering crowd, her injured thumb, now reset and bandaged, cradled against her chest. I try not to think about how a dislocated thumb is almost harmless compared to the rest of the hits she's taken in her lifetime.

"We just checked in with Sydney," I tell her uneasily. "Jared never left their suite."

Rose visibly sags beside me. "Did she sound sure?"

"Does Sydney really seem like she would make that kind of mistake?"

"No," Rose concedes. "And she wouldn't lie about it either."

"What now?" I ask defeatedly. "We're out of suspects."

"I don't know," she says softly. A few moments go by, and her eyes narrow on the fighters in the ring, zeroing in on their movements. Each of them moving with deadly grace, and yet unable to land a blow on their opponent.

"They're good," I tell her, captivated by the way the fighters seem to move as one.

"The finest soldiers NAAMA has to offer," she tells me dryly.

"But now they're on our side."

"They are," she agrees. "And I really like the idea that the NAAMA military has played a part in training the people who are now working to dismantle it," she says with a smirk. "It almost makes what they did to us worth it."

I turn to her, an idea forming in the back of my mind. "They gave us the tools we needed to fight back."

She glances at me out of the corner of her eye. "To an extent, yeah."

"Rose," I say, spinning her around to face me. "What if the Executor knew exactly what she was giving us?"

Her brows knit together in confusion. "What do you mean?"

"Isn't it possible that even though the Executor doesn't know about Portum Lux specifically, she knows that something like it exists somewhere?"

"Of course," says Rose, still sounding perplexed. "Rumors of an underground movement have been circulating since NAAMA's inception, but Lissa, what does this have to do with the murder?"

"The Executor discovered the undercover operatives in the NAAMA military," I reply quickly. "All of our spies were compromised, practically confirming that the _underground_ _movement_ was more than that - it showed her that we were organized, and she had to have guessed that we would send a rescue team after them."

Realization dawns across Rose's face, and her eyes dart to the ad Salvum guards standing all around her. "You think we brought back a mole," she says under her breath.

"Think about it -" but Rose cuts me off before I can explain further.

"No," she says firmly. "I know them, there's no way that any of them would betray us like that."

"They've already shown that they're willing to betray one confidence, what's to stop them from betraying ours?"

Her expression darkens, and I immediately regret what I've said. "If that's how you really feel about the situation, then you'll have to lock the entire guard up - including me. You don't know what they risked to help us, what they're still risking. Mason _died_ to bring them home."

"You're right," I tell her, feeling wretched. "I'm sorry, it was just an idea; a bad one," I add for good measure.

"It's fine," she says, her eyes darting away. She rubs her injured thumb absentmindedly and glances around the room at the soldiers I had just insulted before suddenly freezing. "Maybe it wasn't such a bad idea after all," she murmurs.

"Wait, what?" I ask, not sure I've heard her correctly. I try to follow her gaze to see what has changed her mind, but Rose waves a hand in front of my face to draw my attention back to her.

"The undercover-ops weren't the only ones we brought into the city that night," she responds eagerly.

"The refugees," I say, nearly choking on the words. "We marched them right through the gates of Portum Lux without thinking twice."

Images bombard my mind - of the day Christian came back from his mission. The refugees who hadn't been brought to the medical ward to be treated had simply been left outside of the Duval. I realize then that I had interacted with so few of them since the raid. _I don't even know most of their names._

"Christian said the mission went off without a hitch," Rose continues, her voice becoming more chaotic with every word. "It was too easy."

I press down on my temples with the tips of my fingers, my head suddenly aching at the thought of how careless the city had been. The people brought back from the raid had been so broken - so in need of protection that we had taken them in without question, never stopping to consider the possibility that we had brought an enemy into our midst. _But which of them could it be?_ Most of them had tried to lay low, except for a few.

"We need to tell the others," Rose insists, pulling on my hand to lead me away. "We have a new list of suspects to comb through before the vote tomorrow." When I don't follow, she turns back to me looking impatient. "Come on, we don't have time to screw around, it could be any one of them."

I shake my head at her slowly. "No," I tell her, "Not just anyone."

"Okay, Sherlock, then who is it?" she asks, her fists now planted firmly on her hips.

"Think about it," I tell her imploringly. "What would Natasha have to gain by planting a spy in the city?"

"Everything!" Rose nearly shouts. "Information for a start," she says in a more hushed tone. "Our location - she could bomb us out of existence!"

"But she hasn't. I don't think information was her goal. Destroying a resistance movement like that would make martyrs of us all - she cuts off one head and two more grow back in its place."

"She needed to sabotage us," Rose continues, catching onto my line of thinking. "To destroy us from the inside. But have any of the refugees actually done anything to cause trouble around here?"

I take a deep breath, gathering my thoughts like weapons. "I can think of one."

* * *

 **Whoopsies, have another 8,000 word apology for my crappy update schedule.**

 **HOME STRETCH - there are two official updates left for** _ **Haven**_ **! The absolute last thing that will be posted for this story (aside from me telling you when** _ **Awake**_ **goes up) will be a very special update - probably one of my favorite things that I've ever written, and it will hopefully get you all excited for the last installment!**

 **Also, ily hbarker, best beta in all the land.**


	26. Chapter 26

**Content Warning: not for anything sexual (spoiler – sorry), but parts of this chapter are a little gory, just FYI.**

 ** _Rose -_**

 _"Your absence has gone through me_

 _Like thread through a needle._

 _Everything I do is stitched with its color."_

― W.S. Merwin

There was a time when I had considered the main combat floor of the ad Salvum training warehouse to be the foulest smelling place on earth. Turns out I was wrong. The stench that emanates from the attached locker room is far worse. If the NAAMA government could somehow find a way to replicate and harness the odor, I'm sure it could be turned into some kind of chemical weapon.

Lissa, Eddie, Dimitri, Christian, and I all stand in a circle among the rows of empty and rusted lockers with hands and shirts pulled up to cover our mouths.

"Whose idea was it to meet here?" Christian asks, gagging on tainted air.

Eddie pulls his sweatshirt away from his mouth to answer. "I figured it would be the safest place for us to talk."

"Because of the smell?" Lissa asks, wrinkling her nose.

My eyes dart around the room, scanning the stained tiled walls and dilapidated shower stalls. "Because there are no cameras," I answer, guessing the reason Eddie had suggested we meet here.

Eddie nods in confirmation, offering me a tight-lipped smile.

"What's this all about?" Dimitri asks, his dark brows furrowed in determination. He seems to be the only one of us who isn't bothered by our location. "You said you figured out our next lead." He directs his last statement at me, waiting for an explanation.

"Not me," I tell him, shaking my head, because I hadn't been the one to make the connection. "Lissa."

The group turns its collective gaze on Lissa, and to her credit, she does not fidget beneath the weight of our impatient and curious stares. She straightens, and then pulls in a deep breath through her nose but seems to instantly regret it.

"Christian," she sputters briefly before regaining her composure. "How often does Portum Lux authorize raids on the rehabilitation camps?"

Christian furrows his brows in confusion but answers her even if he doesn't understand why she's asking. "Including the most recent one," he pauses, trying to remember. "We've conducted six raids."

 _Six raids_ , I repeat to myself and my heart sinks. Surely the Executor would have been told that the camps were being regularly liberated, and surely she would have taken precautions against it happening again – especially if she suspected that the same group was behind each of the raids.

"What's going on? What does this have to do with Tatiana's murder?" Christian asks, noticing my unease at his revelation.

I feel Lissa tense beside me, and listen as she audibly gulps. "Is it possible that the Executor planted a mole in one of the camps?"

Christian's expression goes slack, and for what is probably the first time in his life, he seems to be at a loss for words. I can tell that he wants to say _no_ , that it's not possible, but when he doesn't immediately deny the plausibility, it's all the confirmation we need.

It doesn't take the others long to fit the pieces together, and I hear Dimitri curse under his breath before asking. "Who determines what camps are raided and when?"

Christian grimaces, pinching the bridge of his nose before answering. "There are three main camps in the area, we have the specs, layouts, and guard rotations for all of them-"

"For fucks sake," I say, interrupting him. "Don't tell me you just _rotated_ which camps you went after."

Again, Christian's silence is the only answer I need.

I fight the urge to tell Christian that _he should know better_ , that even though the NAAMA military made us cruel, it also made us cunning. It would have been so easy for the Executor to plot which camp would be liberated next, and to slip in a spy for us to _rescue_ and bring back into our midst.

"It's a good idea, I mean _bad_ for us obviously – but it's smart. Where did it even come from though?" Eddie asks, and Christian lets out a small sigh of relief at the attention shift. "I thought we were focused on Sage Senior?"

"He has an alibi," Christian grumbles. "But I am curious to know how the two of you reached this conclusion. Do you have any proof?"

Lissa looks down at her feet, shifting her weight from side to side before answering. "Not exactly."

"It's more of a hunch," I add, feeling stupid even as I speak the words aloud..

"Think about it," Lissa insists. "Portum Lux has existed in peace for years now, since the day it was founded. The people here were happy, they had everything they could possibly need – no one here had any real reason to want Tatiana dead."

"The only thing that's changed around here recently – is us, and since I'm pretty sure none of us killed her," I say, eyeing my friends meaningfully. "That leaves us with the covert ops we pulled from the Lonestar Facility and the refugees brought in from the southern camp."

Christian gazes at me expectantly, waiting for a more solid explanation. When he doesn't get one, he lets out a frustrated sigh. "We can't present a _hunch_ to the Council. We need more proof than that to justify an investigation into a murder they think they've already solved."

"We don't need their blessing to investigate," Eddie says stiffly. "We can do it on our own."

I see Dimitri shake his head out of the corner of my eye. "There are too many refugees, and too few of us. We'll never be able to talk to all of them before -" Dimitri's jaw snaps shut, but he doesn't need to finish his sentence, we all know what he had been about to say – _before Victor is executed_.

"About that," says Lissa, chewing on her bottom lip. "If I'm right, then we only need to talk to one refugee."

"Who?" asks Eddie.

"The refugee who supported my nomination," Lissa answers firmly.

"That guy?" Christian asks skeptically. "He seems harmless enough."

Lissa cuts a glare at him before continuing with her explanation. "I know I don't have any proof, not really, but something about him feels _wrong_. He went out of his way to make sure I was elected to the Council, and earlier he said something to me that I can't shake."

Dimitri's expression darkens. "What did he say to you?"

Lissa holds his fierce gaze. "That everything is going to change."

"He's not wrong," Christian grumbles, and I see Eddie punch him in the arm. "That doesn't make him a murderer."

"Do you have a better idea?" I snap at him.

Christian sighs, trying to exhale all of his exhaustion and defeat. "No," he admits. "But we still can't bring this to the Council. Not without some kind of proof – a confession would be preferable."

My good fist clenches at my side. "Then let's go get ourselves a confession."

* * *

We decide to split up and search the city, realizing that we can't extract a confession from a man we can't find. Eddie, Dimitri, and I walk with Christian and Lissa as far as the Duval where we all pause at the bottom of the stone steps to go over our flimsy plan one last time.

"Find Sonya," I say to Lissa in a low voice. "See what she remembers about…" my voice tapers upon realizing that I know next to nothing about our mystery man. "The suspect." I finally finish, having to resort to words and phrases I once used as an investigator.

Lissa nods firmly, but Christian looks unsure. "What exactly is it you're hoping we get out of Karp? This feels like a waste of time."

"You second-guessing every little thing is a waste of time," I snap.

"Sonya kept staring at him earlier, while we were at dinner," Lissa says quickly, stamping out mine and Christian's budding argument before it can ignite. "Like she didn't recognize him."

Christian still seems unconvinced, but he isn't willing to go toe to toe with Lissa, not right now.

"What's going on here?" a voice calls out. The five of us whirl around to face the empty streets of Portum Lux, tense and ready to scatter if we need to. "Are you guys having a party without us?"

Adrian and Sydney come close enough to the steps of the Duval for us to recognize them in the dark. Dimitri lets out a breath beside me, and I peer to the side to see that he has one arm outstretched, positioned in a way that partially blocks me from the street.

Adrian's curious expression morphs into one of confusion. "Seriously," he adds. "What is going on? Why do you all look like your mom just walked in on you -" Sydney socks Adrian in the arm before he can finish what was sure to be a very colorful metaphor. He rubs his arm, casting a scowl that isn't really a scowl in Sydney's direction.

"Is this about Tatiana's murder?" Sydney asks, able to deduce why the five of us would be meeting in the shadows of the Duval at night.

I nod. "We have a pretty good idea of who's responsible."

Sydney's golden eyes widen. "Who?"

No one responds at first, and we try not to exchange questioning glances.

"We really need to figure out this guy's name," I hear Eddie mutter behind me.

"The refugee who supported my nomination," Lissa answers.

"Ethan," Sydney says without hesitation.

"Ethan?" Dimitri repeats, though it's more of a question than a statement.

Sydney nods in confirmation. "Everyone who comes through Portum Lux has to be examined by either myself or my father. We run blood tests and give them any necessary treatments and immunizations. We have files on all of them."

"Ethan," I say, mulling the name over.

"Have you seen him?" Lissa asks excitedly. "Recently?"

Both Sydney and Adrian shake their heads and Lissa's shoulders sag almost imperceptibly.

"What can we do to help?" Adrian asks, noting Lissa's disappointment.

I turn to Sydney. "Can you distract your father?"

Our search for Ethan will be difficult enough without Jared Sage sniffing around. We can't afford to let him get in the way – there's too much at stake.

Sydney only looks slightly taken aback by my request. "I can try," she says firmly. "Though I don't know for how long."

"Just until tomorrow," Lissa says, her voice strained. "Until the vote."

 _The vote._

The one that will decide Victor's fate.

Adrian slips an arm around Sydney's waist, tugging her to him. "I think we can handle distracting dear old dad," he says with a smirk. "You can introduce me to him as your lover, and we'll go from there." Sydney rolls her eyes at him, but a small smile plays on her lips.

"I said distract him, not give him a stroke," I tell Adrian dryly.

"We can handle it," says Sydney, every bit as serious as Adrian is playful.

"Thank you," Lissa says before turning to Christian. "Come on, we need to get going."

He nods in agreement and the two of them begin moving with Adrian and Sydney toward the entrance of the Duval. Lissa pauses at the top of the steps, turning to look down at where Dimitri, Eddie, and I still stand.

"Meet back up at sunrise?" she calls.

"Sunrise," I confirm.

That's all the time that we have – to track down Ethan and get him to confess to the murder. Doubt festers in my veins, spreading like a disease. _God, what if it's not him?_ _What if we can't find him in time?_ Victor's life depends on our success, a fact that both motivates and deters me.

"Sunrise doesn't give us a lot of time," Eddie says grimly, echoing my own thoughts.

I straighten, trying to shake away any thoughts of Victor. _One task at a time_ , I tell myself.

"Then we'd better get moving."

* * *

The three of us move through the city like wraiths, ducking into alleys and sliding into shadows until we reach the stony capital building. We check to make sure that no one is around before mounting the marble steps. The white domes seem to glow like beacons against the black sky draped behind it and I cannot help but think that it was careless of Tatiana to hold court in such a building, one of the only careless choices I can recall her making. The pristine walls and rounded ceilings feel like the white center of a target, like the Executor has but to glance in this direction to find it.

But once inside, even though I've been here before – but always under strenuous circumstances, I have a new appreciation for why Tatiana had chosen this place. The air is damp, the wooden paneling of the walls worn, and the metal sconces mounted in the halls are rusted, but unlike the ruined city surrounding it, a kind of strength courses through the stone and mortar, like the blood running through my veins. The capital is resilient, and like its people, it has endured.

Eddie guides us into the building and it only takes a few turns for me to recognize our path. When we reach the metal doors of the surveillance room, Eddie holds up a hand, gesturing for Dimitri and me to hang back. We melt into the darkness of the corridor and wait for Eddie to place his security card against the panel mounted on the wall.

Eddie enters the tiny room, and after a brief and muffled conversation, a woman with a sleek silvery braid practically runs out of the room, looking relieved and exhausted. Dimitri reaches down to squeeze my hand, but instead of finding flesh, he finds hard plaster and metal. Sydney had reset my dislocated thumb a few hours earlier and had done her best to fashion a cast. Now I can feel Dimitri practically vibrating with the need to ask me about it again. Having had no time to explain it to him earlier, I had simply told him not to worry about it when he'd first noticed.

Eddie waits a few moments before poking his head out of the room and motioning for us to follow him. I pull my hand from Dimitri's and slink into the surveillance room, silently promising him a better explanation.

The metal doors close behind Dimitri and me, and my eyes fall on the dozens of monitors mounted on the walls of the room. Eddie is already seated on the bench, fingers dancing across keys as he begins searching the feeds for signs of Ethan.

Dimitri glances at the cuff still dangling from the metal bench. He pulls at it, examining the lock and then glancing at my injured hand. I can't hold his gaze and I turn away, tucking my new cast behind my back.

Dimitri isn't willing to let this go so easily though, not this time. "Care to explain _now_?" he asks, coming up to stand behind me.

I watch as Eddie continues typing away at one of the keyboards. His eyes are glued to the nearest screen and I can tell he's doing his best not to eavesdrop – a nearly impossible task given that he is trapped in a glorified chrome closet with us.

"I did what I had to do," I say quietly, thought I still can't look at him. "Sage trapped me in here, and I couldn't just sit here and do nothing."

Dimitri's only response is a frustrated sigh. He knows better than to press me, knows that even if I somehow live a hundred lifetimes, I will make the same choices every time if it means saving Lissa – if it means saving him.

"Have you found anything?" I ask Eddie, even though he's been at it for less than a minute.

He shakes his head. "Not yet," he mutters. "But there's a lot of footage to go through here." He tears his gaze away from the screen to look back at Dimitri and me. "Make yourselves comfortable, we're in for a long night."

We spend the next few hours scouring the screens for even just a glimpse of Ethan. He pops up here and there – in the dining hall, at the training warehouse, but it's never for long.

I jump at the sound of Eddie's head falling against the counter in front of him. I'm not sure if he'd done it out of frustration, or exhaustion – or both. "This guy is a ghost," he mutters.

Dimitri shifts on the bench beside me, trying to rub the tiredness from his eyes. "I don't understand," he says gesturing to the screen in front of him. "These cameras are mounted in every corner of every room of every building in this damned city. How is it possible that we've not only failed to figure out where he is _now_ , but also what the hell he's been doing since he got here?" His voice is awash with anger and defeat. "I can watch Adrian skip class to meet Sydney, I can watch Christian pacing the council chambers – hell, I can even watch myself go to the bathroom if I really want to – but Ethan?" He stops, his chest rising and falling rapidly. "Nothing."

I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to relieve some of the burning.

 _Nothing_.

That's what we've been able to find, how much we've accomplished, and how little energy we have left.

"Let's hope the others have found something," I say, trying to sound hopeful, even though my words are cut through with doubt.

I try to tell myself that this hasn't been a waste of time; that the city was too large for us to search on foot, and that this had been the only way.

Eddie's watch beeps and he bolts upright. He glances down at it, looking confused for the briefest moment before saying, "It's time to go back."

* * *

Dread pools in my chest as we climb the winding steps to the roof of the Duval, and when we finally reach the top my hand freezes in the rusted door that leads to the roof.

"Rose." Dimitri's voice is low, soft. I can feel the warmth of his breath on my neck and it's almost enough to the thaw the misery that seems to have frozen in my veins. "What is it?" he asks.

"I let her down."

"You can't always save the day. Sometimes the best thing you can do when it's raining is to just let it rain."

I grit my teeth, fighting the urge to snap at him - to tell him that this isn't about getting wet or caught in a storm - this is _life and death._ But it's not really the thought of Victor's death that troubles me, it's the thought of what his death might do to Lissa.

Instead of fighting with Dimitri The Wise, I push open the door and step out into the chilly pre-dawn air. She's waiting for us at the edge of the roof, her fingers twined with Christian's, her head nestled against his chest. I wish I could freeze this moment for her - keep her suspended in time, in the arms of the boy she loves with a velvety pink sky hung behind her.

She pulls away when she hears us approaching, her expression unreadable.

"Tell me you had better luck than we did." Those are the first words out of Christian's mouth.

I didn't think it was possible, but my heart sinks further in my chest, and I force myself to keep a level gaze because I'm almost certain that if I were to look down I would see it lying at my feet.

I look over my shoulder to see Eddie shaking his head in answer.

"He's gone," I tell them, my voice hollow.

"Gone?" Christian repeats skeptically. "How can he be gone?"

"I don't know," I say, but this time my words are cut through with rising anger. "He wasn't on any of the camera feeds for more than 60 seconds at a time."

Christian shakes his head slowly. "That's not possible."

"I don't know how it happened," Eddie chimes in before I can snap back at Christian. "There are huge gaps in our recordings, but you wouldn't know they were there unless you were looking for it."

Christian stares back at Eddie in bewilderment. "Shit," he says quietly, then turns on his heel to face the rising sun. "Shit!" he says, louder this time.

"For someone who didn't want to go along with our flimsy plan in the first place, you sure do sound disappointed that it didn't work out," I say pointedly.

His shoulders visibly sag, but he doesn't turn back to face us.

"What did you find out?" Dimitri asks.

Lissa chews on her bottom lip before answering for Christian. "Sonya was staring at Ethan because she was trying to remember how long he'd been in the camp before the ad Salvum raided it."

"And?" I ask, though I'm sure I already know what the answer will be.

Lissa swallows hard. "Two days."

 _Two days._

"There's more," she adds. "Sonya said that most of the people brought to the camps came in groups. RPD agents round up as many civilians as they can before making the trip south. She said it's more efficient that way."

"Let me guess," Dimitri says, his voice thick with exhaustion. "Ethan was brought in alone."

Lissa nods.

I fight the urge to smack myself in the forehead. "How did no one catch this?" I ask, more to myself than to my friends. "He might as well have been wearing a neon sign around his neck that said _spy_."

"And now he's gone. Sneaky bastard," Christian adds for good measure.

"What do we do?" Lissa asks, and I desperately wish I had an answer for her.

Christian finally turns back around to look at Lissa, his expression a perfect reflection of the helplessness that weighs on my heart. "We have to try and convince the council that Victor is innocent."

Lissa's fists clench at her side. "He might not have murdered Tatiana, but he's not innocent." There is no anger in her voice, no hate, no guilt - she states the words like a fact. No one is sure of how to respond. She lets out a heavy sigh. "But that doesn't mean he deserves to die for this," she finishes, finding a way to put how conflicted we all feel about our current situation into words.

"Come on," Christian says quietly, extending his hand toward Lissa. "It's time for the vote."

* * *

Eddie, Dimitri, and I wait outside the doors of the council chamber for what feels like hours, the three of us too tired to talk, but too anxious to sleep. When Lissa finally emerges from behind the oak doors, I know without needing to ask that this meeting that we had meant to be our last stand, our last hope to set things right, had not gone well. The truth of Victor's fate is written all over her face.

"Tomorrow," is all she says. "They're going to do it tomorrow."

* * *

I hardly sleep that night, and when I finally do manage to drift off, I jolt awake what feels like just moments later. My eyes burn with exhaustion, and inside churns a sea of emotion. This isn't my first execution, and a part of me knows that it's unlikely to be my last, but I can't shake the feeling that what's about to happen today is _wrong_.

I am no stranger to death – I've dealt it out, danced on the edge of it, and watched others succumb to it. Even though I am here - alive, staring at my own reflection as I slide on my ad Salvum uniform, I am reminded that no matter how many times you brush your fingertips against the darkness and pull away, your hands never come back clean. Mine are coated with black and red and the permanent imprint of a trigger.

Death by firing squad is by far the most common execution method among the NAAMA military. It inspires the most fear, and offers a unique training experience for the recruits.

I was 15 years old the first time I was rotated into a squadron, and even then I knew that the RPD expected of me – to do my duty for my country, to pull the trigger when the time came and rid the world of criminals and dissidents – to kill.

I remember the way I had stood shoulder to shoulder with my fellow recruits, our shiny black boots planted firmly in the muddy fields of what would soon become a mass grave. Before us was a massive trench, and standing at the edge of the trench – were people, men and women with their wrists bound and their mouths gagged. The trousers of the man standing in front of me were stained from where he had soiled himself, and even standing 20 yards away I could hear him crying.

I remember being told to raise my rifle, to aim to fire. I remember trying not to shake as I pulled the trigger, trying not to think about what the man before me had done to deserve this, and then I remembered the way some of the older recruits had talked about shooting out legs and arms first to draw out the pain. I remember the way they had laughed. But most of all I remember telling myself that I could not miss.

I took a deep breath between each pull of the trigger, ensuring that I _did not miss_ ; that when my bullets found their mark, the end would come immediately after. The bodies fell backward into the trench, and even over the sound of gunfire all around me I could hear the sickening thud of their corpses hitting the muddy earth below them.

I had thrown up immediately after, and had been taunted for weeks because of it. Sometimes I would lie awake thinking about what I had done, and I would cringe at the memory of my own body's betrayal. And then other times I would thank fucking god I had done it – because it meant that I had been a human for five seconds. Sometimes I would forget what that was like.

Dimitri and I walk in silence down the twisting staircases of the Duval, the weight of the events to come pressing down us.

"Where is Lissa?" I ask, confused to find that Christian is the only one waiting for us outside of the old hotel.

He looks away for a moment, shuffling his feet. "She couldn't do it," he answers hoarsely.

No one knows how to respond, and I fight the urge to ask if I could also be excused. I bite my tongue and reach for Dimitri's hand, needing his grip to anchor myself. If there's a chance that I can talk the council out of its decision, I have to try. For Lissa, I have to try.

* * *

Christian leads Dimitri and me deep into the underbelly of the medical facility, to a lower floor I had not known even existed. Despite the fact that we have descended beneath the earth, everything is still clean and bright and sterile, and it feels almost wrong. This facility was built to help the people of Portum Lux – to save lives, not take them away – and yet, that is exactly why we're here.

We end up in a small room, lined with a neat row of metal chairs facing a gallery window similar to the one we had used to look in on Victor when he'd first been brought to Portum Lux.

I recognize a few members of the council, including Arianna – the woman who had spoken out against Jared.

Christian, Dimitri and I take places along the back wall, each of us probably hoping to sink back into it until we disappear. When I glance back at the window, I see Jared with his head bowed over a small tray. He's trying to make himself look busy, a nearly impossible task when I notice that the only thing on the tray is a single glass syringe.

Victor comes into view just then, and everyone in the viewing gallery averts their eyes. The other council members may not know the truth of Victor's innocence, or believe in what Lissa had tried to tell them, but the mere sight of him is enough to tell them that what is happening here is _wrong_. I don't need to convince the council of anything, I realize, because it doesn't matter. It doesn't matter that this isn't the right thing to do – it's happening anyway.

My stomach roils when I focus my gaze back on Victor. He's too weak to even stand on his own, and one of the men has to lift him up out of the wheelchair and ease him onto the padded examination chair. Victor glances down at his limbs with an unconcerned expression, watching as his ankles and wrists are strapped down with thick, leather restraints. His eyes look as if death has already come for him. The familiar twinkle has vanished, and not even the slightest hint of a spark remains.

Victor raises his head slowly, his attention shifting to the glass window before him. I wonder if he can see us, or if the glass is merely showing him his own haggard reflection. His expression remains vacant, and it's impossible to tell what is going on inside his once brilliant mind.

I can still remember the first time I had heard his name, the first time I saw his face, and the way his niece had thrown her arms around his neck.

I can still remember the way my threats against Lissa's life had set his green eyes ablaze and the way he had been able to puzzle out my motives in a matter of seconds.

I realize that despite the fact that Victor has only been in my life for a few months, I know a great deal about this man.

I know him well enough to know that he had been brilliant, and that he had tried to protect those he claimed to love – in his own way.

But a part of me remembers the monster, the man who arranged Lissa's parents deaths, the one who had dug his fingers beneath my torn flesh, the one who had held a knife to my throat until my own blood had filled the crooks and hollows of my skin like water running between the rocks in a babbling stream.

I remember it all, and yet I cannot find a way to justify his death. I cannot find a way to be okay with this.

Victor lets out a hacking cough and his wrists jerk against the restraints in an attempt to cover his mouth. Flecks of blood now speckle his shirt white T-shirt – red stars spangled across an otherwise clear sky. The man who had helped him out of his wheelchair cringes at the sight but Victor doesn't seem to notice; he doesn't seem to notice anything. I realize that both versions of the man I had known are gone.

This isn't an execution, not really, because he is already dead.

Jared approaches Victor with the loaded syringe in hand. He swallows hard and nods in the general direction of the window.

This is it.

Jared tries to insert the needle into Victor's forearm, but his veins are corroded and his skin is papery thin. It takes almost a full minute before Jared is able to properly insert the needle. He pushes down and we all watch in grim silence as the clear liquid empties from the barrel of the syringe into Victor's body.

 _This can't be it_ , I lament to myself. It's too simple. Surely not even a man such as Victor deserves to die so unceremoniously.

Jared pulls the syringe away, and I feel Dimitri weave his fingers with mine – but only barely.

We all stare at Victor, waiting for some dramatic sign of his passing, but nothing happens.

The seconds pass like years – and still _nothing_ happens.

This is not justice. Jared had fished this broken man from the trash, painted over the ugly cracks of his illness, patched him up with beautifully woven lies, and passed him off as the villain. His death is meant to quell the rage that burns in the hearts of the people who still mourn Tatiana's death.

But Jared will not risk telling the people the truth. He knows it would only be seen as another blunder. He can't afford to let the people see how quickly Portum Lux has deteriorated under his care, and so he is content to let Victor die so that a forced image of Portum strength can cling to life.

The heart monitor, which had been steadily beeping in the background, begins to slow. The change in tempo brings a change in volume – each sound comes more slowly than the one before, and yet it comes more loudly. Soon it will be deafening.

Victor's eyes flutter shut and I cannot bare the sight of his stillness. I focus on the red line as it runs across the screen of the heart monitor. It rises and falls, the peaks and valleys marking the beating of his heart. His body spasms, his arms pulling against his restraints and I feel bile rising in my throat.

The red line stops rising and it stops falling until it just stops altogether and the slow, deafening beep rings out like a scream. My eyes are fixed on the monitor, but instead of the red line that is now completely flat, I see the machine that had once displayed my own pulse – the one the Risk Prevention Department had used to turn me into a liar, into a murderer. It doesn't matter that I had not been the one to the pull the trigger this time - I'm going to be sick.

I bolt from the room before I can hurl my guts up all over the pristine white floor of the gallery. My good hand is clamped down over my mouth and my legs carry me up staircases and down corridors until I burst through the backdoors of the medical facility.

I fall against the stone walls of the alley, head bowed and palms braced against the bricks. I try to take a deep breath, but my chest heaves with the effort. Instead of exhaling air, I throw up what little food I had consumed in the last twenty-four hours until the only thing left inside of me is a mixture of disgust and regret.

I'm silently grateful that, this time, there is no one to see me or tease me for being weak.

Except, that when I lift my head to glance down the alley, I see that there _is_ someone watching. Even from a distance I recognize his plain features with his ruddy hair and eyes.

Ethan.

More bile rises in my throat, but I swallow it back down, along with the need to sprint toward him and close my hands around his throat. It's possible he doesn't know we're onto him, and I can't risk spooking him. I can't risk losing him again.

I force myself to chuckle. "Well this is embarrassing."

Ethan cocks his head to the side. "Not feeling well?" he asks, strolling casually toward me.

My fingers curl in on the bricks of the alley, nails digging into stone. "I'm feeling much better now," I tell him coolly, wiping my sleeve across my mouth.

"Oh good!" he says, clapping his hands together. "I would hate for you to be sick on such a beautiful day."

I quirk an eyebrow at his remark. "It rained this morning."

Ethan, now standing just a few feet away, furrows his brows. "And why should that mean that the day is not beautiful? A day is made of more than just the weather forecast, Ms. Hathaway."

"So it is," I agree.

The air around us is silent, but still crackles with tension. I crane my neck to look past him to where he had come sauntering toward me. "Where were you?" I ask, not really caring how casual my question sounds.

Ethan's eyes darken. "I like to take walks. I find that the fresh air clears my mind."

"It must be nice to have that kind of time," I say, inching closer to the man. "Do you have a favorite destination?"

The man's mouth splits into a wicked grin, and I wonder how I had ever considered Ethan to be unremarkable. "There are many places in this city that I find to be very interesting – there are so many secrets to uncover if one only takes the time to look."

"That sounds like something an investigator might say," I tell him, flashing him a sharp smile of my own.

Ethan shrugs. "You would know."

I didn't realize that such a tiny, backhanded comment would be enough to make me snap – but it is.

I lunge at the man with all of the strength and speed of the soldier that I had once been, slamming him back against the stone walls of the alley. I wrap my hands around his throat as best I can, using my cast to press down on his windpipe while my knee drives up and into his gut. Ethan's eyes bulge and he tries to call for help.

"Go ahead," I shout. "Scream." He squirms beneath my hold, his fingers clawing at my hands. "Then you can tell whoever comes what you did!"

I jerk him hard, his skull cracking against the brick wall behind him and he stops fighting.

"Admit it!" I don't recall when I had started to scream. "You killed her! You killed Tatiana, and it almost cost Lissa her life!"

Ethan doesn't respond, but I can't see past my anger to where his face - his expression - has morphed into one of terror and is turning a light shade of purple.

I feel an arm wrap around my waist, wrenching me backward. Without my hands braced around his throat, holding him up, Ethan collapses to the ground.

"Rose!" someone shouts, and I dig my elbow into the ribs of my assailant, knocking the air from his lungs so that now everyone around me is gasping for breath.

I lunge toward Ethan, but a hand catches my wrist and spins me back around. "Rose, stop! You're going to kill him!" I try to jerk my hand away, but Christian's grip is too strong. Of course he would have come looking for me after the execution – he'd seen first-hand what the others had done to me.

"That's kinda the point!" I shout back.

He pulls me further away from Ethan. "We need him alive!"

"Why?" I demand. "It's too late for him to confess! Victor is dead!"

Christian releases my wrist only to grip my shoulders. "Don't you get it?" he asks. "Ethan has been leaving the city!"

My anger starts to fizzle out, and I realize what Christian means. Ethan has likely been passing information about the city along to the Executor. We don't need him to confess to what he's done – we need him to tell us what he knows.

"Fine," I hiss, but it takes Christian a few more moments before he's sure I won't immediately attack Ethan if he lets me go. When he does, I turn back to see Ethan trying to get to his feet. I use the heel of my boot to slam him back onto the ground. "But the interrogation is mine."

* * *

"This is a bad idea."

"Then leave," I snap at Christian.

He lets out a frustrated sigh, his eyes darting to the door of the supply closet he had once used to interrogate me when I had first come to the city. We hadn't wanted to risk being seen by anyone at the Capitol, choosing instead to sneak Ethan into the bowels of the Duval.

"We should at least go get the others," he says, his words tinged with unease.

"No!" I say, more urgently than I had meant to. "Christian please…I can't do this with them here."

For this to work, to get Ethan to talk, I have to use the tools that the RPD gave me. Dimitri and Lissa know the truth of my past, but I will die before I let them bear witness to it.

I know Christian understands what I mean. "Fine," he relinquishes, raking a hand through his hair. "But I'm not going to lie for you, Rose. Dimitri is probably worried sick about you right now, and I'm not going to try and _lie_ to a six-foot plus Russian."

"Ten minutes," I say, half asking, half demanding. "That's all I need."

"Ten minutes," he agrees.

* * *

The door to the closet slams shut behind me and I hear the lock click into place. I grab a metal folding chair and wedge it beneath the doorknob to ensure that my interrogation isn't interrupted.

It feels strange to be back in the tiny room, and I recall fleetingly how it had reminded me of my training cell. When I turn from the door to see Ethan seated in a metal chair with his hands bound behind his back, I find that it still makes me think of the Risk Prevention Department.

I fold my hands behind my back, doing my best to conceal the cast even though Ethan must have already noticed it.

"Is this really necessary?" Ethan asks, pulling on his restraints.

"Absolutely," I say, my tone easy.

"May I ask why?"

I shrug. "I find that being in the presence of unrestrained murderers makes me feel...a little uneasy."

Ethan has the audacity to laugh. "That's rich, coming from you. One should never point fingers with unclean hands, Ms. Hathaway."

This time I do not react to Ethan's mention of my past. "You're not denying that you're a murderer."

"There's no need to deny it," he says cheerfully. "Tatiana is dead, and my dear Mr. Dashkov has already taken the fall for it. Besides, I don't plan on sticking around much longer, so it wouldn't really matter even if you could find some way to convince the council of my guilt."

"You look pretty stuck to me," I tell him. "And I'm not so sure that it's the council you should be worrying about."

Something dark flashes in Ethan's eyes. "Ah yes, I suppose you're right. I am, after all, stuck in a room with the infamous Rosemarie Hathaway, mass murderer and darling of the NAAMA military."

My good hand twitches at my side. "I see my reputation precedes me."

"Not quite." Ethan stares at me appraisingly. "I must admit I was disappointed to discover you were little more than an ungrateful and broken girl who had managed to turn her back on everything her country ever gave her."

I fall back against the door, my arms folded across my chest. "Sorry to have disappointed you, it's kind of my thing."

"Don't fret," he assures me. "My time here has still been most enjoyable."

Before I can ask him to elaborate, a soft crackling sound fills the room and I watch Ethan's smug expression go slack with horror. I take a step toward him and he begins jerking violently against his restraints but I'm on him before he can do too much damage.

"What was that?" I hiss, but don't wait for a response. My hands rove over his chest and thighs with singular determination, searching for the source of the interruption. He writhes beneath me and I almost miss the knife sheathed at his boot. "That was naughty," I tell him, holding up the blade for him to see before tucking it into the belt of my uniform. Ethan keeps shifting helplessly in the metal chair until I finally locate a small radio tucked away at the small of this back.

The device fits squarely in the palm of my hand and I immediately recognize it as a radio receiver. _This is how he's managed to stay in communication with the NAAMA government. This is how he was able to avoid being caught._

"I wonder who's waiting at the other end of this," I muse aloud. "Intelligence? Communications? RPD?" I tick through the branches and agencies that make up NAAMA's military and government, keeping my eyes glued to Ethan to see if he reacts, but his expression remains a constant, surging storm of rage. "I'm afraid whoever it is will be very disappointed when you don't call them back."

I toss the radio in the air, and Ethan watches as it falls lightly back into my palm. "No matter," he tells me, gaze shifting away. "I've already told them everything they need to know."

I ignore his threat for the time being, focusing instead on the tiny device, turning it over in my hand in the hopes that I might spot an insignia or other evidence of its origins. It's a little more advanced than the ones used by the military, but I still recognize which dials and buttons will receive and transmit messages.

I see Ethan fidget out of the corner of my eye and I realize that now is not the time to study the radio, and I tuck it away into my pocket to await further inspection.

"What did you tell _them_?" I ask, taking a step toward Ethan. "Better yet – what is it that you think you know?"

There is a mischievous twinkle in his eye when he says, "That Jared Sage's control of the council is tenuous at best, that the people of Portum Lux are restless, that the ad Salvum is seriously underappreciated and receives no support beyond what the council deems to be necessary."

I shrug at his response. "All true enough, but that kind of information does anyone outside of Portum Lux little good."

 _A lie_.

Any one of those pieces of information could be used to break Portum Lux. Ethan and I both know that to be true. But I deny their validity anyways, hoping that in defending what he's learned, Ethan might betray how he plans to use it.

He ignores the bait. "That's not all I discovered."

"By all means," I say, gesturing for him to continue.

"I know that your injury is degenerative and that had you not been overcompensating for your body's failure – Mason Ashford would probably still be alive. I know that Vasilisa Dragomir counts backward from one hundred when she's scared. I know that Adrian Ivoshkov has a soft spot for spirits and for the councilman's daughter. I know that Dimitri Belikov still holds out hope that his family is alive. I know that –"

A loud crack fills in the air as my fist collides with the side of Ethan's jaw. He lets out a bark of laughter at my outburst, and I feel my knuckles twitch beneath the plaster cast.

"I know," he says through labored breath. "That Eddie Castile blames you for the death of his friend."

I'm suddenly crouching before Ethan, the knife I had taken from him earlier clutched in my good hand – but he doesn't look afraid.

"He was so _relieved_ when Tatiana didn't name you as captain – so _relieved_ that he wouldn't have to watch anyone else die under your command."

My vision has gone red and I yank up the fabric of his pants, exposing his leg. I drag the knife across the back of one ankle, slicing through the tendon – relishing in the way his blood runs down into his shoes, in the way his body spasms with pain, in the way his words turn to screams.

Someone pounds at the door behind me, but the chair remains wedged into place. The sound snaps me out of my fit of anger, and I stagger away from Ethan – disgusted with myself.

Ethan's head lulls to the side, but his dark eyes remain fixed on me. "You're too late," he says through gasping breaths.

"Rose!" I can hear Christian screaming my name from the other side of the door.

But I can't stop now – Ethan knows too much, and I cannot even begin to fathom how he was able to learn such intimate details about Portum Lux, about me, about the people I love.

I march toward Ethan and grip the collar of his shirt so tightly that my fists begin to tremble. "Too late for what?" I demand, shaking him so that his head snaps forward with a jerk.

Ethan says nothing, content to stare at me with his tumultuous gaze.

The time for asking questions is at an end, I realize. If I cannot trick him into telling me the truth, then I will make him beg for the opportunity.

I release his shirt long enough to draw back an elbow and then slam my fist into his jaw once more. The cast binding my injured hand hurts us both more than an ordinary hit, and the contact is punctuated by a sick crunching sound. The force of my blow sends Ethan's chair backward so that it teeters on two legs before clattering back down to the floor.

"Answer me!" I shout, rage and terror spreading like damp beneath my skin. _Too late, too late, we're too late!_ But too late for what? This time when he doesn't answer me, I strike him across the other side of his face and he lets out a low gurgle of pain.

There is a milky film glossing over his eyes, and he seems unfocused for the first time since being dragged into the dingy supply closet. "You're too late!" he gasps out once more, blood bubbling over his split lip and dribbling down his chin. His vague threat seems to be the only sentence he's capable of forming and he mutters it over and over again.

 _I'm losing him_. I should know better than to let my fear and anger control this interrogation. I turn my back on him, not wanting him to watch as I try to reign in my emotions.

I regain my composure long enough to notice that the pounding at the door has stopped.

"She knows you're here," he whispers, his voice low and chaotic. "She's coming for you."

My hand twitches at my side, and I turn my head over my shoulder. "Who is coming?" I ask, even though I already know the answer.

I _need_ to hear him say it out loud, to hear him confirm that the Executor is behind this, that she is responsible for all of the suffering that plagues NAAMA.

Ethan's head falls forward, his chin resting against his chest and he mutters something I can't understand.

I bury my fingers in his hair, balling up the strands in my fist and yanking back hard, forcing him to meet my gaze. "Is it Natasha?" I growl.

He stares up at me and I watch as his disconnected expression morphs into one of mirth at the sound of her name. "How dare you speak her name!" he hisses. "She is the Executor!"

My eyes narrow at him, and I replay his words in my mind, not caring so much about the words themselves – but the way he said them.

Ethan has finally given me a way in.

"You love her, don't you?" I ask with a sneer, even though I already know I'm right.

His eyes fill with wrath and he tries to spit in my face, but instead more blood and saliva runs down his chin.

"You _are_ in love with her," I answer for him, tightening my grip on his scalp. "Is that how she was able to convince you to rot away in a rehab camp and wait for rebels to rescue you?" Ethan's silence is the only prodding I need to continue. "You could have died waiting for rescue," I whisper to him, leaning in close. "She couldn't have known it would happen, she could never guarantee your safety."

"She didn't have to!" he shouts, thrashing wildly against his restraints. "I would die for her!"

"Of course, of course," I croon darkly. "She was probably hoping you would."

Ethan stops fighting long enough to respond. "She trusted me to do what needed to be done!" he insists through gritted teeth.

"She didn't trust you," I hiss. "She trusted in your obsession, and she used it to her advantage. She used you, Ethan."

Something fractures behind his dead eyes. "She loves me," he whimpers.

I let go of Ethan, taking comfort in the fact that I don't need physical force to get what I want from him - not any more. "Oh Ethan," I say, my voice filled with equal parts pity and disgust. "She doesn't love you. She sent you back here to die."

"No!" he screams, my words hurting him far more than my blows ever could.

I tilt my head to the side, studying the broken man seated before me. "Why else would she send you back here?" I ask. "You already did everything she asked you to do: you made it into the city and murdered Tatiana. You even managed to help put Lissa on the council – its leadership is in shambles. Portum Lux is tearing itself apart from the inside. You then were able to escape. You did everything right – and yet, she sent you back into the city."

Ethan tries to sit up straight in the chair. "How do you know she sent me back?"

I fold my arms across my chest, trying not cringe at the pain radiating from my hand and shoulder. "Why else would you come back here, after you knew someone would eventually figure out what you had done?"

"She needs me here!" he shouts.

"She needs you to die!" I should back.

 _Close_ – I'm so close – _Tell me why she sent you back Ethan, what is she planning?!_

Ethan suddenly lunges from the chair, broken restraints dangling from his wrists, but he collapses to the stone floor in a bloody heap before he can get near me. His hands clutch his ankle and he lets out a howl of pain and frustration.

The door bursts open behind me, sending the metal folding chair clattering to the floor. I whip around to find Christian standing in the doorway, cradling the shoulder I'm assuming he has just used as a battering ram. His jaw goes slack at the sight of Ethan huddled on the floor, a puddle of his own blood pooling on the floor beneath him.

Shame wells within me. I can't stand to look at Christian's horrified expression and my eyes dart to the ceiling.

"Rose," he whispers, and I feel him gently take my hand in his.

"Don't" I choke out. _How can he even stand to touch me after seeing what I've done_?

He pulls me from the room and closes the door behind us. I heave a breath, sucking down air in gasps, not having realized how cloying the metallic scent of the broom closet had been.

Christian watches me intently, knowing better than to immediately jump down my throat about what happened in the interrogation.

"Rose," he says quietly once I've managed to catch my breath. "What happened in there?"

I stare at him, stare – but don't really see. "I lost control."

He glances down at my trembling fists, at the white cast now stained red with blood. "What did he tell you?"

My chest feels empty, like I've been hollowed out by the pain I've just inflicted.

"What did you find out?" Christian asks when I don't answer his first question.

 _That I'm still every bit the killer the Academy made me to be_.

"That we need to leave."

* * *

The dried blood on my cast has turned from red to a deep brown color. I had tried to wash it away, but the evidence of what I've done remains clearly visibly.

Jared Sage's eyes dart from my hand, to my vacant expression, back to my hand. "How can we be sure that what he told you is the truth?"

I've answered some version of this question at least six times over the past hour.

Jared, Lissa, Christian, Dimitri, and I have all gathered at the top of the Capitol Building – in the room that used to be Tatiana's office. _But I guess it's Jared's office now._ He had had no choice but to at least hear Christian and me out – now that we have Ethan in custody.

I turn away from where Jared and the others stand around the massive desk at the center of the room.

"It doesn't matter if what he said is true. He knew things," I say quietly. "Things he shouldn't know, and if there is even a chance that he's told the Executor – we have to leave."

"Rose is right," Dimitri says, and I have to keep myself from cringing at his show of faith.

 _I don't deserve him._

"We can't risk staying here," he continues. "Portum Lux stopped being safe the moment Ethan walked into this city."

"Where is he now?" Lissa asks. It's the first time she's spoken and I can tell she's still trying to process Victor's death.

"First floor broom closet," Christian answers. "We left Grant to guard the door."

I stifle a snort – _not that he needs a guard_. The wound I'd given Ethan has likely crippled him for life.

Jared let's out a frustrated sigh. "Do you even realize what you're asking? You want us to throw away _everything_ that we have built here – years of work. Where will we even go?"

I whirl back around to face him. "If you don't want to leave the walls of your precious city, fine, but I am taking my people and we are getting the hell out of here," I snarl at him.

Jared stiffens at my words but he doesn't outright retaliate. "I would like to at least talk to the prisoner myself."

A part of me wants to refuse his request, I don't want to risk him and the others seeing what I did. But if this is what it takes to get Jared to agree to mobilize – so be it. I'll be the monster, I'll play whatever part, give up whatever scrap of humanity I have left to keep these people safe.

"I'll take you to him."

* * *

The walk back to the Duval feels like a funeral march. My companions seem to realize that I am in no state to talk about what happened beyond what I have already divulged, and so they leave me to walk behind the group in silence.

Jared leads everyone into the Duval and down the narrow hall that leads to the closet Christian and I had used as an interrogation room. They all crowed around the door but I force myself to hang back. Jared opens the door to the room and I hear Lissa let out a scream. I squeeze my eyes shut – _she can't stand the carnage – the blood. It's all my fault!_

Someone jerks me by the shoulders and I force open my lids to see Christian's frenzied expression. "Ethan!" he sputters. "He's gone!"

* * *

Victor's body lies wrapped in a plain, white sheet in the bed of an old truck. Jared had agreed to let Dimitri, Lissa, and I borrow it on the condition that we return before nightfall. The sound of the corpse jostling up against the rusted metal sides of the vehicle can be heard whenever we turn too sharply or hit a bump in the shattered highways of a world forgotten. We all pretend not to notice, but I can feel Lissa tense up every time it happens.

Another condition of our impromptu funeral is to make sure we do it at least 50 miles away from Portum Lux. I know why Jared had insisted upon it, but driving that far from the city means spending more time listening to Victor's body roll against the sides of the truck.

Dimitri finally pulls the vehicle over to the side of the road, and I hear Lissa let out a small sigh of relief.

The task of carrying Victor's body falls to Dimitri, and I grab a shovel from the backseat before following Lissa and Dimitri past the tree line that stands 50 yards from the highway.

We walk in complete silence for about twenty minutes. I'm grateful for the cold air that nips at my skin, it helps to distract from the surrounding woods. There is no sign of life among the barren trees, not even the slightest hint of green. It almost seems fitting that Victor should be buried here among the other bits of withered and forgotten life.

We finally reach a small clearing, the ground marked by slanted shadows where the sun has cut through the naked branches of the surrounding pine trees.

It's as good a spot as any.

Dimitri's lays Victor down on the ground and I swing the shovel around, grateful for a task.

The cold wooden surface of the shovel bites into my palms, but when I bring the metal blade down against the dirt, it does little more than ricochet. "The ground is nearly frozen," I say to no one in particular, my words accented by tiny puffs of vapor. My bandaged thumb makes holding the shovel awkward, and when I try to adjust my grip on the handle it clatters to the ground. I let out a string of curses but make no movement to retrieve it.

Dimitri brushes a reassuring hand against my shoulder before reaching down to pick up the shovel. "Let me," he offers.

"Fine," I mutter, turning back toward Lissa.

She waits beneath a cluster of trees; their bare limbs are stark against the gray blanket of sky and they reach up into the air like the clawed hands of some monster. She leans against a thinning sapling that looks as if it's been dead for years and I can't tell who is holding who upright. Her expression is slack - like she's too exhausted to even be miserable, and yet she seems to radiate tension.

"How are you holding up?" I ask, even though the answer is written all over her face. Her normally vibrant green eyes have turned as dead as the foliage and moss still clinging to the forest around us.

She stares straight ahead, focusing on Dimitri as he struggles to dig through the frozen earth. "I'm watching my oldest friend dig a grave for the man who raised me," she tells me deadpan. "How do you think I'm doing?"

"Right." I wince. "Stupid question." It goes unsaid that Ethan's disappearance has only made matters worse. I realize that nothing I say will make either of us feel any better.

When Jared had opened the door to the tiny broom closet, he hadn't found Ethan – he'd found Grant.

He'd found Grant's body - his head bashed in by the door of the closet, judging by the blood and gore that dripped down the frame.

It had been enough to suck the last bit of resistance from Jared, and he had agreed to start mobilizing the community. We would leave as soon as Lissa, Dimitri, and I returned to the city.

Lissa and I both watch as Victor's grave widens and then deepens with every shovel-full of icy dirt and half-frozen roots. Other than a few grunts coming from Dimitri every few minutes, an unnatural quiet has fallen upon the clearing.

The minutes pass like years, but Dimitri manages to dig a suitable grave just as the sun begins to dip down into the horizon. Together, Dimitri and I lower Victor's body into the grave as gently as we can. I release the white sheet as soon as the corpse makes contact with the earth, trying not to stagger backward.

The three of us stand in a circle around his body, and Lissa reaches down and grabs a handful of dirt, then extends her trembling fist over the grave. She heaves a breath, and begins to speak. "I was nine years old the first time an investigator came to the compound. He arrested the old man that used to live in the unit next to ours." She pauses, wiping away the silent tears that streak down her face. "They took him away because they found a stack of books in his bedroom." Lissa lets out a hiccupping sob that verges on laughter - and I know what she's thinking: _they were just books and he probably died for it._ "I don't even remember his name. I do remember that he had been kind, but he had been sad too. His granddaughter died in the Pulse. I think that's why he always let me borrow a book when I asked nicely. I think I reminded him of her." Her voice cracks at the memory. "I was scared - so scared that they would come for me next. I wanted to stop our lessons, but you wouldn't allow it. You told me it would only lead to an empty existence. You told me to live as if I'll die tomorrow, and to learn as if I'll live forever." She closes her eyes and lets out a breath. "But no one lives forever, Victor." The dirt falls from her outstretched hand, sprinkling the white sheet with flecks of earth. "Goodbye, uncle."

Lissa glances at Dimitri as if to ask him if there's anything else he would like to add. He takes a step toward her, wrapping one arm protectively around her shoulders. He bows his head so that strands of dark hair fall forward to frame his face. He murmurs something in Russian - his words soft, and even though I can't understand them, I know it's a prayer.

Their collective gaze flicks to me and I swallow hard. "You didn't deserve this," I say, my words barely rising above a whisper.

And I mean it.

Hatred is like a poison. If we hold onto it for too long, it starts to slowly permeate every fiber of our being until there is nothing left of us. We think that by hating a person, we are hurting that person, but we are the only ones who ever truly feel it in the end.

Dimitri releases his grip on Lissa and turns to me. "You should wait in the truck. I can finish up here."

I nod, resisting the urge to sprint from the clearing. Instead I wait for Lissa to come close enough for me to take her hand so I can lead her back to our ride. She follows without a word, and even though her hand is shaking, her grip on mine is strong. I give it a gentle squeeze; it's about the only thing I can do.

When we reach the truck, I open the door and she climbs soundlessly into the seat, but before I can slide onto the bench beside her, a loud bang splits the air around us.

It takes less than a second for me to recognize the sound and suddenly I'm running back toward the clearing before I even have time to consider the possibilities. The sound of gunfire seems to crack across the sky like a thunder storm and even though I can't see it, I can feel each pull of the trigger reverberate through my bones, rattling my teeth.

I try not to think about where the shots could be coming from, what kind of danger I might be running toward. I simply tell myself to run – _run, run, run._

Then the forest goes perfectly quiet.

As soon as I reach the clearing I can tell that I'm too late.

It's empty.

The trees and the wind and my own ravaged heart have all gone impossibly still. There is nothing and no one here - save for Victor's freshly dug grave. I take a step forward and spot signs of a scuffle.

The realization of what must have happened brings me crashing to my knees. I want to curl up inside myself, to keep folding over and over until I disappear completely. Instead I crawl across the frozen earth on hands and knees to the place we had just buried Victor - the loose dirt already beginning to freeze over once more.

I reach for the shovel that had been cast aside in whatever struggle had just taken place here. I pull it close, clutching it to my chest as tears course down my cheeks. My hands slide across the blade. It feels wet, and when I look down, expecting to see my palms coated with mud, I see that they are stained red with blood.

* * *

I'm not sure how long I've been sitting in the clearing when I hear a faint crackling sound. My eyes dart around, scanning the trees for the source of the noise, but I find nothing but shadows.

"Rose," I hear someone call out, their voice warped with a strange, grainy quality, and I manage to reign in my tears long enough to choke out a response.

"Who's there?" I rasp. "Dimitri?"

"Rose Hathaway," the voice calls again, edged like a knife.

The voice is coming from somewhere beneath me, I realize. My gaze falls on Victor's grave and I stifle a scream - _I'm going insane - Victor is dead!_

"Time is running out, Rose."

I let go of the bloody shovel and it falls to the ground. My hands fumble through my pockets, my heart threatening to beat its way out of my chest. I find the radio receiver I'd confiscated from Ethan, my thumb mashing down on the transmit button.

"Where is he?!" I demand, the question ripping through me.

"I warned you this would happen," the voice tells me. "That you were already too late."

Realization slams into me like a truck – _Ethan_. The anger and grief roiling in my gut is rising to dangerous levels – threatening to spill out of me and paint the world with red.

I clutch that radio so tightly that my fist trembles. "If you hurt him – if you lay one finger on him – I swear to god there is nothing in this world that will keep me from hunting you down and tearing out your throat." Never mind that I plan on doing so even if I somehow get Dimitri back unharmed.

Ethan sighs. "You're not really in a position to be making threats, but since you're feeling so chatty, there's someone here who would like to speak with you."

The radio goes silent. A few agonizing moments later, a second voice pours through the tiny speaker. "Rosemarie Hathaway, what a pleasure it is to finally meet you." The white-hot anger coursing through me freezes at the sound of her voice – the same voice that every citizen in NAAMA is forced to listen to once a year.

I squeeze my eyes shut and the Executor's speech plays over and over again in my mind: _Good evening, citizens of the North American Alliance for Modern Advancement._

Natasha Ozera laughs. "Although I guess this little conversation doesn't really count as a meeting, per say."

 _Today we are gathered, not to mourn, but to celebrate. This day is a momentous one, for on it, 16 years ago, we were reborn._

Natasha pauses before continuing. "But even despite not having actually met, I feel as if I already know you."

I can't speak. My mind is at war with itself – it threatens to split right down the middle as I try to reconcile the words coming from the small device in my hand with the ones spoken every year to remind us of the tragedy we had supposedly overcome – _Our world fell into chaos and it seemed there would be no end to the destruction_.

"I have your file right here," she tells me, sounding almost thoughtful. "It's quite impressive. Your instructors seemed especially impressed with your achievements at the Academy - ruthless, efficient, _loyal_ ," Natasha barks out a laugh at the last trait. "Stan Alto even went as far to call you _heartless_."  
 _But it would end. Your government would prevail, and soon we were able to reorganize and rebuild. I have safeguarded our future and we have emerged stronger, and more prepared than ever._

"Heartless," she repeats. "I suppose he was right in a way – that if we were to cut you open and take a peak beneath flesh and bone, I don't think we would find your heart." Her voice is disarmingly soft, the lilting of her words so at odds with the Anniversary speech.

 _Never again will we be vulnerable to such an attack!_

"But that's only because your heart beats outside your chest, doesn't it?" she asks, but I still can't make myself utter a single word. "Only it goes by another name. Dimitri, was it?" The sound of his name on her lips sends a new wave of fury rippling through me and I stagger to my feet, knees threatening to buckle beneath the weight of my despair.

"You should know better!" she hisses, her eerily calm demeanor giving way to disgust. "The Academy taught you better than to let yourself become so vulnerable – to _love_ , but I suppose it doesn't matter now."

 _Never again will we face the decimation that once threatened to wipe mankind off of the planet and out of the history books!_

"The result of your betrayal – this love you now bear for the people in your life – I will use it to **break you.** "

 _We are strong_.

"And I'll start…" she says, her tone becoming lighter.

 _We are independent._

"With him."

 _And we are united!_

* * *

 **Only one more update left to go! I realize that this 1, was not a very uplifting update, and 2, came like five months after the last one, for which I am v sorry, BUT I did try to make up for it with a solid 12,000 words (that I worked really hard on).**

 **Also! On a lighter note, I was asked to contribute to the VA 10** **th** **Anniversary Project and I a ED. It's such an amazing idea and there are so many great writers involved and I really hope you guys will check it out. The first set of stories is set to come out on Mother's Day. (I have yet to actually figure out if I'll be contributing to that particular series, bc ya know, it's finals and law school is the actual worst but regardless, it's going to be amazing and you should all read it)**


	27. Chapter 27

" _Death may beget life, but oppression can beget nothing other than itself."_

― Charles Dickens, A Tale of Two Cities

 _ **Vasilisa –**_

The walk back to the truck feels like moving through a dream. Rose's grip on my hand is strong, but I can feel her shaking as she pulls me along after her – the broken leading the broken. Neither of us says a word; we both know that part of the numbness that we feel can be attributed to the fact that despite having just buried a man executed for something he didn't do, we are _relieved_ – relieved that Victor can never hurt us again.

But neither of us will ever admit to something like that, not out loud.

Maybe one day I'll be able to reconcile all the versions of the man I had known – the brother, the uncle, the teacher, the monster, the martyr, but I can't afford such a luxury right now; I can't afford to have that kind of peace of mind. I need to rage and burn and fight.

Rose releases my hand when we emerge from the tree line, her shoulders drooping as she walks toward the truck and wrenches the door open. She won't meet my gaze when she gestures for me to climb onto the vinyl bench seat. I do so gratefully, my body heavy with exhaustion. I turn toward my friend expectantly, waiting for her to fill up some of the empty space that presses in on me.

But she doesn't climb in after me.

A loud crack splits the air, and before I have time to even process what's happening – she's gone – sprinting back toward the trees as the sound comes again and again and again.

I realize too late that it's gunfire.

"Rose!" Her name rips through me as I scramble back out of the truck.

My foot catches on the lip of the door and I sprawl gracelessly onto the hard ground. I force myself up and I half-run, half-stumble in the direction that Rose had gone. My limbs and lungs begin to burn almost instantly and I silently curse Portum Lux for not including some kind of physical exercise in their curriculum.

After a few minutes of aimless sprinting, I realize that the gunfire has stopped. The woods around me have gone eerily still and I skid to a stop, my eyes darting around, searching for a sign of Rose or Dimitri.

An icy fist wraps itself around my thundering heart and a cold sweat breaks out along my brow.

"Rose," I say in a low, desperate voice. "Rose, where are you?"

I whirl around, hoping to catch a glimpse of something – anything, but I am completely surrounded by nothing but dense and unfamiliar woods. Panic roils in my gut and I take heaving breaths, trying to suck down cold air in the hopes that it calms my mind to the point of being able to form a logical thought.

 _Gunfire_.

 _In the middle of nowhere_

 _No sign of Rose._

 _No sign of Dimitri._

I sink to my knees, suddenly wishing that I hadn't thought my situation through. My fingers curl in on the cold ground beneath me, the sound of dead leaves crunching beneath my trembling fists fills the awful silence and I will myself not to cry.

The crunching sound comes again, only this time it's louder.

My head snaps up when I realize that the sound is coming from behind me – _footsteps._ My heart leaps into my throat and I have to choke down the urge to cry out Rose or Dimitri's name. For all I know my friends are dead and the person coming toward me is the source of the gunshots I'd heard minutes earlier.

Whoever it is, they're moving quickly. My options are limited; it's unlikely I'll be able to outrun the approaching stranger, especially if they're armed. I settle for rising slowly from my feet, fists clenched at my side. I will not die cowering in fear on the floor of some forgotten forest among rotting roots and withered plants.

Every beat of my heart brings the sounds closer. I turn slowly to face the direction of the approaching figure and raise my trembling fists in front of my face, doing my best to imitate the defensive positions I'd seen the ad Salvum use in their training sessions even though I know it's pointless.

The figure suddenly comes sprinting through the trees, barreling toward me like a freight train. Rose comes skidding to a halt in front of me and I nearly collapse back onto the ground in relief.

"Rose!" I cry out, taking a step toward her, my arms outstretched.

She steps backward, out of the circle of my embrace and I feel the movement like a punch to the gut.

"Rose," I say again. "Rose, what's wrong?" My eyes rake over her, and I feel the panic and terror from earlier return, spreading like damp beneath my skin.

Her neck and jaw are smudged with dirt and blood in a watercolor of red and brown and black. The dark strands of her hair are tangled and matted with perspiration, the pupils of her dark eyes blown wide. She's clutching the shovel in her uninjured hand as if she means to wield it like a weapon.

She stares at me for a few moments, looking shell-shocked, but from what I can't be sure.

"They took him," she finally says, her voice low and hoarse.

A thought creeps up from the base of my skull, so dark and terrible that I can feel the decay it leaves behind as it snakes along my nerves, tainting my consciousness. "Took who?" I ask, but I already know the answer.

Her bottom lip is quivering when she whispers. "Dimitri." Something inside her breaks and the shovel clatters to the ground, but even then, even though I know she is wrecked with loss, she somehow manages to remain standing.

I want to scream or cry or maybe both, but instead I take a tentative step toward her. "Who took him?"

Rose blinks, her dark eyes seeming to bore holes into my own, and yet I don't think she sees me. "The Executor."

The words hit me like a slap across the face. _What does Natasha Ozera want with Dimitri?_ Before I can voice my question out loud, Rose seems to snap back to reality. Her vacant expression morphs into one of cold determination. The look in her eyes sends a chill through me and I almost feel sorry for the person who inspired such a dark and bitter resolve in my friend. Without another word to me, she spins on her heel and sprints from the clearing.

"Rose, wait!" I cry out, scrambling after her but not before I nearly trip on the shovel. "Rose, slow down!"

She doesn't seem to hear me, and it takes every ounce of energy I can muster to keep up with her. Everything burns – from my legs, to my sides, to the tears that sting the back of my eyes.

 _Why would the Executor take Dimitri?_

It almost hurts too much to think about; holding the thought in my head feels like trying to grip the edges of a blade – the more I think about it, the deeper it cuts and the more I bleed.

We run hard and fast until we reach the old truck. Rose doesn't waste any time jumping into the driver's seat and twisting the key in the ignition. The old engine spins and sputters and then finally revs to life. I throw open the passenger's side door and am barely inside of the vehicle before Rose mashes down the gas pedal and peels off onto the old highway.

I grunt with the effort of trying to slam the door shut while the truck quickly gains speed, but I know asking Rose to slow down would be pointless. Once the door is closed, I sink into the bench, my chest rising and falling rapidly. My eyes dart to the side, to where Rose is white-knuckling the steering wheel. The needle on the speedometer passes by the 60 mile mark, the 70, the 80… The truck groans with the effort, but she doesn't seem to notice, her gaze is fixed on the road ahead. Outside, the world has grown dark and passes by in an inky blur. I lean toward the driver's side to flick on the headlights. Rose grunts in acknowledgment.

I'm not sure what I can say to her; a part of me is afraid that asking even a simple question about where we're going might set her off, the other part is afraid that it might break me.

Despite how fast we're traveling, the minutes pass like years.

"I'm going to leave you at the outskirts of the city," Rose says quietly, her voice edged like a knife. "Do you remember the way back to the Capitol from the border area?"

I jerk my head to the side, staring at her in anger and confusion. "What do you mean _leave me?"_ I demand, my anguish momentarily forgotten. "You're crazy if you think I'm going to let you go after Dimitri by yourself!"

She doesn't turn to meet my gaze. "Christian wouldn't have let Jared leave Portum Lux without you," she continues as if I hadn't spoken. "You can still make it to the coast before sunrise if you move quickly."

"Rose!" I snap. "Rose, I'm not letting you do this by yourself!"

"Remember," she says, ignoring me. "The coastal compounds are more densely populated and that means there will be more provincial guards, maybe even more investigators."

I fight the urge to scream at her, instead I twist to the side and pull the set-belt across my chest and click into place as forcefully as I can. Her eyes flick to me, and her expression grows weary as she takes in my resolve. I know I can't talk her out of going after Dimitri, but I'll be damned if I let her do it alone.

"Lissa," she says, releasing a shaky breath. "You have to let me go."

"No," I tell her, trying to sound brave, but my trembling voice betrays me. "No," I say again, hoping this time I won't sound so weak, but the word still comes out choked. I take a shuddering breath. "I love him too," I tell her, letting my rising anger re-forge my words into something less breakable. "You're not the only one who has lost someone. This isn't just about you!"

Rose suddenly slams her foot down on the brake and the truck lurches to a stop, the tires squealing against the asphalt. I jerk forward from the momentum, nearly slamming my forehead into the dashboard. Rose unbuckles my seatbelt with one hand and leans across me to open the passenger door with the other.

"It is about me," she says, rage coloring every word that spills from her mouth. I stare at her in astonishment, not wanting to believe that she would really leave me here on the side of the road. Rose doesn't budge. "Dimitri is gone because of me. Tatiana warned me that the Executor would take what I'd done personally. She was right"

"And so Natasha Ozera, the Executor, the woman running the entire country, took him to punish _you_?" I ask, bewildered.

"She took him to break me," she tells me, and I can hear where some of her anger has been hollowed out by sadness.

My own grief and confusion presses down on me. "That doesn't mean you have to do this alone."

"Yes, it does," she says, returning her hands to the steering wheel. "Now go, before Jared really does leave without you."

My eyes dart to the side and through the darkness. I can just barely make out the rough outskirts of Portum Lux – _she's really going to leave me._

I do nothing to stop the tears that course down my cheeks. The last time I tried to stop Rose from leaving, I had begged her not to go back to the Lonestar to rescue the double-ops. When my pleading hadn't worked, I had tried to undermine her confidence by telling her the truth about her injury. My betrayal had left a deep gash in our relationship, and then she had left anyways – left to help men and women she didn't even know.

This feels different - I know that she would walk through fire to get to Dimitri, that she would fight with everything she had to make him safe.

I want to hate her, but instead I take a deep breath and force myself to remember why she has to do this. I can't look at her when I swing my legs around, I can't let her see me cry. My knees nearly buckle when I get out of the truck, but I force myself to put one foot in front of the other. I know I should turn around, that I should at least say goodbye – tell her to be safe, to bring Dimitri home. But a part of me fears that looking at her would shatter what little resolve I've managed to gather.

I walk a few paces and my body freezes at the sound of a car door slamming. My heart lurches in my chest, but I don't dare turn around.

 _She's not going to go_ , I find myself hoping. Or at the very least she's going to say good bye.

I stand with my back to the highway, hating myself for how desperately I want Rose to wrap her arms around me one last time.

It isn't until I hear the sound of the tires rolling forward, see the headlights cut through the darkness, and feel the air shift around me, that I realize I had left the passenger door open – that she isn't coming back.

The darkness presses in all around me, but it does not frighten me the way it once had. I have come to learn that there are worse things than darkness.

I stark walking.

When I was 8, Victor taught me to quantify the missing variable of an equation. When I was 12, he taught me to quantify the mass of an object. But it wasn't until the day I buried him by the side of an abandoned highway that I learned to quantify the value of a life – my life.

Until that moment and the moments that had come after, I had never really considered _how_ one would measure a life – in the number of days we live, the number of heartbeats, or perhaps in the number of choices we make?

Now I don't think the measure of a life can ever be defined in those terms, they're too objective; there is no equation, no method for determining the value of a life. It's all relative, something that shapes us and is shaped by us. I know now that the most powerful experience, the thing in this world that has filled every pore of my being and molded me into the person I am today, is loss. I have been hollowed out by absence – the absence of my parents, the love of a man who may not have ever loved me, Dimitri, and now Rose. There are a million ways to lose the people you love.

I recall how I had once told Rose that time would ease the pain of Mason's passing, that one day it wouldn't hurt. I had been so desperate to comfort her, but she hadn't wanted my words or my sympathy. Rose _wanted_ to hurt, and not because she felt she deserved it, but because she feared that the day she stopped feeling the agony his death left in its wake, would be the day she forgot. She didn't want to forget and I hadn't been able to understand her then.

I understand her now.

I don't want time to heal me, I want it to set me ugly and knotted with the loss of my friends. I won't smooth them away.

I won't forget.

 **That's a wrap! I actually cannot believe I finished this (more importantly I can't believe you all still read this because I have an absolute garbage update schedule).** _ **Awake**_ **is the third and final installment for this trilogy. I have a completed outline for it and no excuse to not get started ASAP. Stick around for a sneak peak (maybe) OR, at the very least an announcement for when** _ **Awake**_ **is posted!**

 **P.S. I love you all so so so so much! Thank you for your constant support and kindess!**


	28. Epilogue

**EPILOGUE**

The first of Dimitri's senses to return was his sense of taste. His tongue felt coated with something vile and bitter, and it stuck to the roof of his mouth. He tasted blood and ashes and gunpowder. His sense of smell came next. The damp, stale air pressed in on him and each breath felt like pulling in death manifested in the form of a gas. The sensation made him feel sick to his stomach. Dimitri was blind and deaf and choking on tainted air.

But it was all in his head; he knew it was just a mixture of oxygen and nitrogen, maybe some argon and carbon dioxide, but not death. Dimitri hadn't felt this kind of irrational fear since he'd first been brought to the Midwestern Province. He had been young, but not quite so young that he did not remember the Pulse. Dimitri would often dream about that night, of being trapped below the surface, of his sisters crying, of his mother clutching Viktoria to her chest as she tried to navigate the black train tunnels that ran beneath the city.

It was Victor who had taught him not fear the past. "My dear boy," he had said, his green eyes twinkling. "The only demons living in our memory that can hurt us are those to which we give the power to do so." It was Victor who had taught him to focus, to separate the logical from the illogical, the real from the unreal.

But Victor was dead.

 _Victor was dead_.

The memory of Victor's funeral crashed over Dimitri like waves breaking upon the shore. Images of frozen dirt and bloody sheets came rushing back to him – of Lissa's trembling fist raised above her Uncle's grave, of the way the cold air had turned Rose's cheeks the color of her namesake.

 _Rose._

Dimitri cursed to himself in his native tongue. He was letting his fears get the better of him, he needed to find a way to take control of the situation. He willed himself to concentrate on the image forming in his mind – of his diaphragm contracting and creating more space in his chest cavity, allowing his lungs to fill with air. The small movement sent pain rippling through him. It moved beneath his skin in all directions, all the way to the tips of his fingers, which he found were secured behind his back.

Eyes still sealed shut, he focused on his body, trying to become more aware of his surroundings. Dimitri was mindful enough to realize that he was seated in a hard, metal chair. There were cuffs binding his wrists together, and when he pulled on them, he found that the chains were woven through the rounded bars of the chair. His feet were planted firmly on the ground, but when he tried to rise from his seat he discovered that it had been bolted to the concrete ground beneath him.

This time I swore louder.

It was only a few more minutes before Dimitri found himself wondering, _what would Rose do?_ His first thought was that it would probably be something reckless and terrifying, but well-intentioned and bold.

He had never been any of those things, or at least not until he had met her. She hadn't completed him, but that was only because Dimitri believed that people were usually whole to begin with, and that the parts of a person that were missing could not be restored by the love of another.

No, Roza had not completed him – but she had made him better. Dimitri knew that the best version of himself only existed on a plane where she loved him.

Low murmurs eventually drifted into his consciousness, distorting the image of her dark hair, her soft eyes, the curve of her neck…

Dimitri forced his eyes to open, expecting to be blinded by light, but the world around him was a dark blur of gray stone and sleek metal. He was in a cell, that much was clear, but where exactly his new home was, he couldn't be sure.

There was only one door – one exit, and judging by the heavy padlock that was mounted below the knob, it would be difficult to get past. Though he realized that a locked door wouldn't really matter unless he found a way out of the handcuffs first.

He yanked on his restraints, the metal biting into the skin on his wrists. Dimitri leaned forward, using the weight of his body to pull against the restraints, hoping to hear the links in the chain groan and then break. Instead he felt blood slide down the palms of his hands. He thought for a moment that he might be able to use his own blood as a lubricant, then slip his wrists from the cuffs, but knew he was more likely to peel the skin from his hands.

A bark of laughter escaped him when he realized what his only real option was.

He thought about Rose's broken thumb, of how angry the sight of her bloodied cast had made him. What had she told him? _"I did what I had to do… I couldn't just sit there and do nothing."_

And neither could he.

Dimitri tried to remember what Sydney had told him about Rose's injury. He had stormed into the young physician's office only hours after he had seen the cast on Rose's hand, demanding to know what the extent of the damage was. Sydney hadn't batted an eye at his temprement, an impressive feat considering he was a six-foot-something Russian with a surprisingly short fuse when it came to the woman he loved. 

"Rose will be fine," Sydney had huffed, not bothering to look up from her computer screen. "It was hardly a complex thumb dislocation, she just stretched the capsule of the first metacarpal joint."

Dimitri had always considered himself well-versed in anatomy and physiology, but what Sydney had said to him sounded more like gibberish than a medical diagnosis.

Sydney had let out a sigh upon noticing his frustration. She rose from her stool and reached for one of the folders stacked neatly on her desk. Dimitri hadn't been able to help noticing, and then admiring, the color-coded labels. She withdrew a sheet of film from the folder and held it up in front the lamp, letting the soft light draw forth the skeletal image of Rose's injured hand.

"See," Sydney had insisted. "She'll be fine."

Dimitri had nodded, though he did not in fact, see. He had ultimately let the vague reassurances of both women subdue him – the assurance that Rose would be fine.

He wasn't so sure that _he_ would be fine though.

Dimitri pictured the way Rose's X-Ray had looked, the way the thumb had jutted out awkwardly from the palm of her hand. He almost wished he had asked her how exactly she had done it.

He readjusted himself so that he could grip his left hand with his right, brushing against the joints with the tips of his fingers, trying to feel where his bones came together. Then Dimitri took his own thumb between his fingers, tried to remember the way Rose's mouth had tasted the first time they'd kissed, and pulled down hard.

There was no way his captors couldn't hear him screaming, and so he knew he didn't have much time. Dimitri wriggled his newly broken hand from the cuff and leapt from the chair. He fell against the heavy door, using his good hand to reach for the knob. The cuff that still dangled from his wrist rattled against the metal of the door as he jerked it open.

Dimitri didn't have time to marvel at the fact that the door was unlocked, nor at the empty corridor that loomed before him. He did the only thing he could do – he ran.

It didn't take long for Dimitri to notice that there were no windows – a sign that wherever he was, it was either heavily fortified or underground, possibly both. Each turn he made led him down another empty expanse of hallway, but he wouldn't let himself stop running.

After what felt like hours, he finally rounded a bend and came face to face with a dead end. His panic was short lived though, as he noticed the crack of light cutting slants across the paneled floor.

 _It's a door,_ he realized.

Dimitri didn't waste any time locating the small keypad mounted next to the door. He wondered if merely pressing the green button would be enough, or if he would have to somehow figure out the magic numerical code that would free him from his strange prison.

Strangely enough, it worked.

Dimitri knew, somewhere buried beneath his grief and his panic and the small pang of relief, that his escape was too easy, but he didn't stop. Not even when he burst through the door and out into a perfectly still, perfectly white landscape.

As someone who had been born in Russia and grown up in Montana, the snow that crunched beneath his boots was more of a nuisance than a marvel. He darted up a snowy incline, moving as fast he could while still trying to pull in the details of his surroundings, but everything – from the trees to the banks to the footpath he sprinted across had melted into a blanket of pure white.

The bitingly cold air and the sprint from his cell began to take a toll on him. His limbs and his lungs burned, but he knew that the pain of his exertion would be nothing compared to the loss of Rose.

Dimitri knew he would run clear across the continent if it meant he would get back to her.

He kept his eyes fixed on the road ahead, which was little more than a snowy trail lined with barren trees and decaying roots. Judging by the climate and the sharp decline of his path, wherever he had been imprisoned, it had been constructed at a high altitude. His rapidly beating heart sank – there were no mountains in the Southeastern Province.

Somewhere in the distance he could hear dogs barking. Despite his seemingly uneventful escape from the bunker, Dimitri had known that it wouldn't be long before someone came after him. Whoever had taken him would likely go to great lengths to keep him.

He ran harder, until the powdery snow covering a dirt trail gave way to ice. Dimitri realized too late that the terrain had changed and soon he found himself skidding on hands and knees down a frozen access road. He could no longer sense the cold, instead he felt the ice rub against his skin like a burning torch as he slid down the sheet of frozen asphalt.

Dimitri eventually managed to slow his momentum and get his baring. He staggered to his feet, trying his best to remain vertical, but the sound of the dogs barking had grown louder and he couldn't afford to tread lightly. He barreled further down the road until he reached a rickety metal gate.

The barking had since been joined by the shouting of men. He gripped the icy metal gate as best he could with his uninjured hand and vaulted over it. Later, when Dimitri looked back on this moment, he would try to understand how he could have missed the sign mounted on the gate, the words "Dead End" written in messy, red scrawl across its front.

Dimitri darted between barren trees, his injured hand tucked against his chest. The shouting was so close now. He allowed himself the slightest glance over his shoulder, and it almost cost him his life. He had barely returned his gaze to the path ahead of him when he realized that there was no path.

He came skidding to a halt at the edge of a cliff, the tips of his boots hanging out over open air. Dimitri gazed down the perfectly sheer face of the cliff, down to where the base of the mountain joined with the earth below. He closed his eyes and tried to relish the way the cold, bright air felt against his cheeks.

"Freeze!"

The command came from somewhere behind him, and Dimitri couldn't help but wonder if whoever had given the order had been trying to be funny. When he peered to the side and saw a man standing ten yards from him, wearing a black jumpsuit and a silver belt, Dimitri knew the soldier had not been trying to crack a joke. Dimitri ran through the list of phrases the provincial children used to keep track of which colors each branch of the military wore:

 _Blue is for brains._

 _Silver is for soldiers_

 _Green is for grunts_

 _Red is for risk prevention._

His entire body had gone rigid – each muscle pulled taught as a wire. He knew that any NAAMA soldier wearing a silver belt was not to be trifled with – they were the combatives, the fighters. Rose had warned him about the silvers the first time they had gone to the Lonestar Facility.

"Hands where I can see them!" the man called.

Dimitri's eyes flicked back to the edge of the cliff. It was almost beautiful, the way the light from the setting sun shown on the snow dusted rock and stone. He found himself wondering how far the fall would be, what it would be like feel weightless – even if just for a moment. He wondered what it would be like to watch as the earth below him rushed up to meet his falling body. He wondered if he would feel the crack of his spine, feel the life leave his body. Or if it would end quickly.

He let his arms fall limply to his sides, and then raised them slightly – poised like the wings of a bird before it takes flight.

Rose would forgive him.

She would understand why he had to do it, that he would rather die than be taken by the NAAMA military, rather die than be tortured and forced to betray the people he loved.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you."

A chill rushed down Dimitri's spine, but it wasn't from the cold. _That voice_ , he knew that voice. Dimitri couldn't help himself, he turned slowly, his back now to the open air waiting below him. His dark eyes fell on the group of soldiers that surrounded him – men and women sporting belts of various colors, but most of them were red and silver.

Then he noticed the woman.

She wore a solid white jumpsuit, and Dimitri had nearly missed her standing there with a backdrop of snow hanging behind her. Her inky black hair whipped across her heart-shaped face, the side of which bore a jagged scar, but it wasn't her disfigurement that unsettled him – it was her eyes. They were Christian's eyes – as blue and unforgiving as a raging sea.

"Hello, Dimitri," she said, a terrible smile on her face.

She was beautiful, he realized, alarmingly so. He had never considered that the Executor might be beautiful.

"Please," she said, taking a step toward him, one hand extended. "Come away from there, I would hate for you to fall."

Dimitri did not budge.

Natasha Ozera sighed. "You're not going to jump," she told him, sounding almost bored.

Dimitri huffed a laugh, and then inched back as far as he could without toppling over the edge of the cliff. "I don't think you're really in a position to stop me."

She tilted her head to one side. "You're right, there is nothing I can do to stop you, but I don't have to. You're not going to jump." Her arrogance grated on Dimitri, and he was almost sorry he wouldn't be there to see her expression when he stepped backward and over the edge.

"Because if you splatter your brains on the side of a mountain" she said, taking another step forward, "Who will answer my questions?" She pursed her lips in a caricature of consideration. "I suppose I could just ask Rose, but she's already been through so much, I'm not sure she could handle the interrogation."

Dimitri nearly sank to his knees at the sound of her name.

Natasha's expression darkened, cruel elegance eclipsing the simple beauty he thought he had seen earlier. "Did you really think I would go all the way to the Southeastern Province just for you?"

His entire body shook with rage. _How could I have been so stupid?_ Why hadn't he considered that Rose might have also been in that bunker with him? "If you hurt her –" he growled.

"That," Natasha said, closing the gap between them. "Is entirely up to you." She reached out a hand, splaying her fingers out across his chest.

Her touch filled him with equal parts loathing and disgust, but he did not dare flinch away from her. "If I stay," he said quietly, his voice low and furious. "Rose goes free."

The Executor's lips curled into something she had probably meant to be a smile. "Come back inside with me," she said, her tone soft and lilting. "I'm sure we could work out some sort of…arrangement."

Panic surged within him. Dimitri knew that nothing the Executor said could be trusted, but could he risk Rose's safety? His eyes darted to the ring of soldiers, wondering how far he would get before one of them tackled or shot him.

Did he really have a choice?

He swallowed hard, forcing down the lump that had risen in his throat. As if sensing Dimitri's imminent surrender, Natasha's would-be smile widened. He moved to step around her, wanting desperately to be free of her touch. She let him pass, but did not let him get far.

Natasha slipped a baton from the sleeve of her jumpsuit with a flick of her wrist. It was such a slight looking thing she knew, but deadly when wielded property. She swung out at the back of Dimitri's knees hard and fast and he sank onto them with a pained grunt.

She relished the sight of him kneeling before her, but did not let herself do so for long. Natasha traded the baton for a syringe she had loaded especially for this occasion – her own special cocktail. She grabbed a fistful of his hair and jerked his head backward. Natasha pressed her mouth to his ear, and she felt his muscles go taught.

"I think I'm really going to enjoy this."


	29. Awake Update

Hey everyone! Just a heads up that the first chapter of Awake is up!


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